


Peter's Ghost

by QueenRamsia



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Death, Depression, Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-06-05 23:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6727069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenRamsia/pseuds/QueenRamsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter is dead. He’s been dead for two years. But he’s still with Wade. He haunts him every second of the day. Wade turns around and there he is, watching him through his dingy apartment window. His voice has been added to the cacophony of Wade’s mind. And Ellie is growing up alone.</p>
<p>[Yellow box]<br/>{White box}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Voices in Wade's Head

~752 Days After~

“What are you doing?” Peter asked sweetly. Everything he said these days was sweet. 

“Getting rid of you,” Deadpool growled, ducking just as a bullet whizzed past his ear. 

The concrete wall he was crouched behind was starting to crack under the torrent of brass. It groaned and he had only a second to roll out of the hiding spot before it collapsed. A frown spread across his face as he sprinted across the rubble of crumbling buildings, searching for new cover. He was shot in the hip, shoulder, and clear through his wrist (how the hell that happened, he couldn’t tell you) by the time he dove behind a chunk of roof, un-aliving two baddies as he went. 

Deadpool hissed as he glanced down at himself. He was beginning to look like Swiss cheese, and what did he have to show for it? There were still at least eight of them left. 

“You’re not doing a very good job,” Peter mused. “Maybe you should just shoot yourself in the head again.”

[That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. I’m sick of hearing these two go at it.]

{And not in a good way either.}

[We haven’t gotten it in a good way in forever! How long is it going to take the guy to get his head back in the game?]

{Has he ever even had his head in the game?}

“I could really use some quiet,” Deadpool snapped, raising his gun and blasting a hole into a head. Since Peter...left...it was easier to take dangerous jobs. He could drown himself in the blood of his enemies and if he died? Well, that was just a blessing.

Until he came back and was greeted by the man that had haunted him for years.

“I can’t give you that, sweetheart,” Peter whispered, and it was so soft that it sent a shiver up Deadpool’s spine. “I miss you too much.”

The real Peter would never talk to Wade that way. Sure, he always worried for him when he was gone on missions, but he trusted he would come back as safely as possible. He missed him, but he didn’t show it until Wade was fully healed and able to be loved--physically loved, that is--wholeheartedly. 

He would never distract Wade from a mission. Not like this newer, crueller version of him.

“You’re not real,” Deadpool snarled, but it didn’t help. He barely had time to dodge a bullet aimed at his head--instead getting it in his other shoulder--before Peter appeared in front of him.

“You don’t love me anymore,” Peter whined, and Deadpool almost crumpled before the mirage. 

“Of course I do, baby boy,” Deadpool said, lurching closer, forgetting that he was in the middle of a battle. 

“You don’t,” the image insisted.

Whenever Wade imagined Peter, he was always dressed in an obscenely-tight white t-shirt and dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips. There was no blood on the shirt, though, not like the last time Wade saw the man alive. In Wade’s hallucinations, Peter was perfect and healthy and beautiful. 

Deadpool hesitated just long enough for a hole to be blown in his chest. “I do, baby,” he groaned, and then turned to the assailants. “My head, fuck twats! Aim for my head!”

So they aimed for his head.

~380 Days Before~

Wade stood at the sink, doing his best to wash dishes without breaking any. Peter had told him to leave that chore to him, but Wade wouldn’t have it today. Not only had Petey gotten home at almost four in the morning, but Wade was a grown man, and he was perfectly capable of dunking a plate in water. Besides, Peter was asleep. He’d get the award for Best Boyfriend Ever if his lover woke up to a clean kitchen. 

He was even doing his best not to sing too loudly. His foolproof plan would crash and burn if Petey woke up and things weren’t done. 

[Foolproof? Nothing is foolproof with the big guy.]

{Let him dream. It’ll be funnier when he fails that way.}

Wade ignored the voices banging around his skull and turned his singing into whistling. “Peter will love it no matter what happens.”

“I’ll love what?” A groggy voice wondered.

Wade jumped and the cup in his hand clattered into the sink, splashing him with scalding water. “Motherfucker! Peter!” He rushed to clean up his mess, rambling to himself about his stupidity. “I’m so sorry, baby boy, I thought you would still be asleep for a few more--mmf!”

Peter’s lips stretched into a grin against his. When he pulled back, his soft hands still tracing along Wade’s bare chest, he whispered, “I’m sorry I startled you. What are you up to?”

Wade’s mouth did a wonderful impression of a goldfish. “I was just, uh…”

{His linguistic capabilities are incredible.}

“Wade?” Peter’s hand fell from the scarred man’s chest to his side and he tilted his head to see around him. “Are you doing dishes?”

“No! Well, yes, but I have a good reason--I mean, it seemed like a good idea, and I know you don’t want me doing dishes but I can, Petey, I promise, I’ll show you, and I’m sorry I--”

Wade’s panicked voice was cut off by Peter’s laughter. “Wade, honey, you're okay. Breathe and start over.”

With a sigh, Wade shook his head and obeyed. “I wanted to surprise you with a clean kitchen and breakfast. What with your late night and everything, I thought you might be asleep longer.” His head fell in defeat. “But I fucked it up like I always do.”

Peter’s arms snaked around his neck. “You're perfect. I love you so much.”

Wade’s eyes snapped to Peter’s. “But I messed up,” he blubbered. “I failed!” 

“No you didn't,” Peter feigned a yawn and began to back away and out of the kitchen. “I'm actually asleep right now. I'm going to go back to bed and hopefully not sleep-walk into your amazing surprise again.”

Wade gaped as Peter turned and retreated from the kitchen and up the stairs. 

[ _Hate to see her go but love to watch her leave!_ ] 

{You sing even worse than the big guy.} 

[Fuck you, I sound like an angel.]

{An angel having a seizure.}

The annoyance of the voices brought Wade back to reality. He jumped into action, sloshing hot water all over the floor as he shoved his hands back into the fray of dirty dishes. This time he was even quieter, humming as he gently cleaned the last of the dishes.

The pancakes were ready, surrounded by little bowls of blueberries and strawberries--nothing but the best for his baby boy--and the dishes were cleaned and put away. Even the stove was scrubbed, and Wade had found it in him to sweep the floor. 

He tried to sit at the table and wait for Peter to come in again, but his brain was buzzing and his anxiety was through the roof. Finally, after a whole two minutes of jittery patience, Wade hopped up and crept up the stairs to his and Peter’s bedroom. He coaxed the door open, wincing at the insistent creak, and found his boyfriend actually sleeping. Wade crept closer, eyes raking Peter needily. He always looked younger when he was asleep, like the stress of daytime aged him but seeped away each night. 

Maybe he really was sleep-walking earlier.

But Wade squinted and realized Peter wasn’t breathing right. Puffs of air came in through his nose and out through his mouth, but in an irregular pattern. 

It’s a good act, Wade thought with a smile.

[Since when did he get so good at figuring stuff out?]

{Since the writer said so. She kinda has us by the balls right now.}

Wade leaned down and brushed a feather-light kiss on Peter’s cheek. A hum rumbled out of Peter’s chest and Wade whispered, “What did I do to deserve a guy like you?”

“I have a few theories,” Peter mumbled against his pillow, shuddering as Wade curled around him from behind. 

“Like?”

“Well I’m sure it had something to do with witchcraft.”

“I thought you were a scientologist.”

“That’s a religion, Wade, where they believe aliens gave birth to us or something.”

Wade snorted. “Okay, you’re right, continue with your theory.”

“Come on, there’s no way anyone could love anyone as much as I love you without a little bit of the dark arts.” Peter giggled to himself and Wade melted on the spot. “I can’t believe I just said something that cheesy.”

“Neither can I,” Wade grinned against Peter’s brown hair, sliding his hand up under Peter’s t-shirt to caress his hard abs.

Peter gasped and pressed himself further into Wade’s stomach. “Didn’t you have a surprise for me?”

“You were sleep-walking,” Wade rolled his eyes. “So how would you know?”

“Oh yeah.” 

Wade heaved himself up and and grinned. “Except I do have a surprise for you, so if you don’t come downstairs right now, I’m going to start jumping on the bed.”

“Ugh,” Peter rolled over to gaze up at Wade. “Don’t do that to the bed. It’s dealt with enough shaking.”

[Naughty Petey equals Best Petey.]

{You are so stupid.}

Wade hopped up and scooped Peter into his arms bridal-style. Peter squeaked and heat immediately splotched his cheeks. Wade snorted, “What was that?”

“Don’t speak of it. Oh my g--Wade!” Peter clung to his boyfriend’s neck as he twirled around and skipped out into the hall. “This isn’t funny!”

“Then why are you laughing, baby boy?” Wade gave him a shit-eating grin.

After being unceremoniously deposited into his chair, Peter ran a hand through his hair. Wade stood beside him, fidgeting as the younger man’s eyes pawed over the kitchen. Did it work? Was Peter impressed?

“You cleaned the kitchen,” Peter said dumbfoundedly. “And made breakfast.”

“Well, yeah,” Wade said, deflating. Maybe it wasn’t that incredible of an act. Maybe it was just something normal people did in relationships. 

A slow grin stretched across Peter’s face. “You really are perfect.”

Relief flooded Wade’s veins. “How many points does this get me?” He asked, sliding into his seat.

“At least two.”

“Yesss,” Wade whispered victoriously. 

Peter left three hundred eighty days later.

~752 Days After~

Deadpool peeled his eyes open with a low groan. When he sat up, rubble and dust cascaded off his body. 

The red and black of his suit were the only colors around. The dusty yard of concrete debris made the whole world seem drenched in a sludge of grayscale. 

Jesus, how long was he out?

“Siri, what’s the date today?” he wheezed.

{He could have just unlocked his phone.}

[Do we even have an iPhone?]

{Cue the Android attack.}

[I use an Android.]

{You’re a fucking voice in the head of a schizophrenic psychopath. You don’t have a phone, moron.}

Turns out Deadpool didn’t have a phone, either. At least, not one that worked. He pulled it out of his pocket and found that the bullet that clipped his hip bone had to first get through the phone. 

“Shit,” he hissed and chucked the twisted metal and glass as hard as he could into the distance.

He stood and checked his ammo. Two clips left, of course. 

“You’re not going after them, are you?”

[I miss when we were the only ones in here.]

{Something we can agree on.}

“Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw, Peter, you’re back,” Deadpool snapped.

[We’re quoting ‘The Heathers’ now?]

{I just think the writer loves that quote too much. She’s going to use it wherever she can.}

“You can’t, my love,” Peter insisted. 

“Oh? Why not?” Deadpool snatched his bag from the ground where he had lied and began to scour the lot for tracks. 

“Because you’re trying to forget me. I don’t want you to forget me.” 

“You’re d--gone. And I never get to die permanently, so eventually I’m bound to forget you.”

“I won’t let you,” Peter hissed.

Deadpool tried to say that he wasn’t there, but the words wouldn’t come. Because he was there, at least in Deadpool’s fucked-up reality. He wasn’t tangible, but he existed loudly. 

So instead, Deadpool limped back to where he’d stashed his car. He slid inside and rummaged around for the key in his infinite pockets. After unearthing a stick of gum, a picture of Ellie, a condom, and more balls of lint than he could count, he found that he didn’t have the key.

“Motherfucker,” Deadpool lunged out of the scrap of metal and slammed the door behind him. He really didn’t feel like hotwiring the piece of junk. 

[Are we seriously going to walk?]

No, no he wasn’t. Deadpool sighed and opened the door again, getting on his knees. 

[Never say ‘getting on his knees’ when it’s not to do something fun.]

{The fact that you said that means the writer is one perverted person.}

[She takes offense to that.]

Deadpool hadn’t done this in awhile. Not since he could afford a car with the money he once used to buy food.

When Peter and Wade were together, chimichangas and pancakes were treats to be had no more than once or twice a week, not every day. Meals were intimate events filled with kind smiles and ridiculous jokes. When Ellie came over on the weekends, Wade would make ice cream and the three of them would play MarioKart or Donkey Kong until Ellie’s bedtime. On their three-month anniversaries (Wade made an executive decision on the number of times they’d celebrate being together, though Peter tried to convince him that every three months was verging on ridiculous), Peter would bake cupcakes and he and Wade would have a contest to see who could eat ten of them the fastest. At first, Wade would win with flying colors, but Peter eventually started playing dirty--covertly unbuttoning his shirt to show slivers of his ivory skin and hooking his ankle around Wade’s leg to distract the scarred man--and Wade couldn’t withstand his attacks. 

Now, Deadpool only ate when he needed the strength for a mission. The agony of starvation was usually a good distraction from Peter. The grocery money he accumulated went into buying a car.

Deadpool wriggled himself under the steering wheel and clawed at the plastic cover. Of course he didn’t have a screw driver, but he was able to convince it to open with a knife. A bundle of brightly-colored wires fell on his face and he cursed, batting them away. He grabbed the battery wires and what he assumed to be the ignition. He tied the two together and dropped them, grabbing for the starter. He peeled back the green casing, touched it to the hot battery wire, and promptly received a brain-jarring zap.

“Shit!” He shouted, but the car kindly rumbled to life. Deadpool dragged himself into the driver’s seat and revved the engine. It growled promisingly beneath his foot and he put it into drive, pulling out of the lot. 

But Peter was there, sitting in the passenger seat, his hand on Deadpool’s thigh.

~299 Days Before~

Peter lay his hand on Wade’s thigh, instantly calming him. Wade groaned, “I’m sorry, baby boy, I think we’re going to be late.”

“It’s okay, honey,” Peter smiled, leaning across the center console to kiss his cheek.

“I can’t do anything right.” 

[Again with the pity party.]

{The big guy is more of a downer than Kristen Stewart’s acting.}

“Stop, Wade,” Peter ordered, exasperation betraying his voice. “You know I hate it when you say stuff like that. It’s not true.”

Wade worked his jaw, white-knuckling the steering wheel. “I just want to get you there on time.”

“What’s this about me? We were both invited.”

“I was invited because I’m your significant other,” Wade spat dryly.

“The Avengers love you, Wade.”

“They love you, Peter. They can hardly stand me.”

“Well, it sucks to be them then, because I’m not letting you go anywhere,” Peter said harshly.

Wade snorted and mused, “I wonder how Iron-lad is going to handle it when he finds out not only did you let me drive, but I got you there late.”

Peter’s hand gracefully loosened from Wade’s leg and trailed listlessly upwards. “This just won’t do. You’re too stressed to go pretend to have fun.”

Wade gasped as Peter’s fingers gripped around his member through his slacks (Peter bought him the suit for their two-year anniversary so they could go to some five-star restaurant he’d somehow convinced Stark to reserve for them). “Baby boy, you’re going to make me even more stressed.”

Peter leaned closer, his breath playing tantalizingly across Wade’s marred skin as he reached for his zipper. “Let’s get rid of some of that tension.”

[Jesus Christ!]

{Well this is a pleasant surprise. And here I thought this story was going to be all sobfest.}

[I guess we shouldn’t underestimate the writer’s love of smut.]

Wade choked on a moan as soft lips closed around his freed member. “Baby--Petey--”

“Hmm?” Peter hummed, and the vibrations sent spasms up Wade’s spine.

Suddenly, a loud horn blared. Peter jumped and banged his head on the ceiling, cursing loudly. Wade bit back a laugh and sped forward through the now-clear street. Peter snorted and reached across to fix Wade’s pants. “Think that’s funny, do you?”

“Of course not,” Wade promised, but he was grinning. “Uh, baby, I still kinda have a growing problem--”

Peter huffed and pulled down the visor, brushing his hair back. “Well, since it’s so funny, you won’t mind being good and acting like you don’t have a raging--”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Wade stiffened.

[Ha! Stiffened.]

“I would dare,” Peter grinned wickedly. 

“Baby boy,” Wade whined.

Peter snorted, but didn’t respond. 

It was a very long, difficult night for Wade. But Peter made it all better when they finally got back behind the shield of tinted windows, crawling on top of the scarred man and mounting his erection.

Peter slept all the way home, but Wade didn’t mind. His member was still warm from phantom sensations hours later. He carried the younger man inside, careful not to jostle him awake, though the soft hazel eyes flipped open when he accidentally dropped him on the bed.

Peter laughed at their predicament--him plopped haphazardly on the bed and Wade going a little crazy with apologies--and it sounded like home.

The car was Peter’s. It was sold to pay for his funeral.

~753 Days After~

Who was Deadpool supposed to kill? A drug cartel deserter. Who was he forced to face? His lackies. What the actual fuck. 

This just wasn’t his mission.

But he wasn’t a quitter, so he drove after the tracks left by the gunners to a small warehouse. And lo and behold! The target was in there, all by his lonesome after Deadpool had silently taken out all the guards in perfect ninja-fashion.

[Why is the guy suddenly so happy?]

{He’s not, he’s just relieved to be done with this God-forsaken trip.}

Deadpool grinned at the bulbous man standing on the other side of the room. “Hey, uh, you! You know, I’m not going to lie, I have definitely forgotten your name. But that’s okay!” He laughed madly and whipped out a katana. “You won’t be needing it anymore!”

With that, he lunged forward, a gun in one hand and a katana in the other. Suddenly, a voice called out into his head, “You’ve forgotten my name.”

Deadpool screeched to a halt, blood pulsing in his ears. Not here, not now. “H-hey, baby boy.”

[His boyfriend is dead and he’s still whipped!]

{‘Boyfriend’? Didn’t they elope at some point?}

[Spoilers!]

Thank Jesus a hallucination didn't appear in front of him, but Peter’s voice took up so much space in his head that it might as well have been pinning him to the ground. He couldn't move, not even to blink, as Peter’s laughter--soft as bells--played in his brain. Peter’s laugh was always his favorite music. No matter what was deluging his mind, the sound of it could always bring him back.

That is, until Peter died. Now, his laughter haunted Deadpool. It played low and melancholy without reprieve some days. Other days he didn't hear it at all, and the silence itself was enough to drive him mad. There were times when he would shoot himself just to make it stop. 

It didn't help that he laughed at everything. When Deadpool died, he laughed. When he failed a mission, he laughed. When he won a firefight, he laughed. 

When Deadpool was crying late at night, strangled and alien, because he just couldn't stand being alone and not only alone but alone without Peter, he laughed. 

The real Peter could calm Wade with a single giggle. The new Peter could drive Deadpool to suicide with the same force. 

The target was trying to run, as if he was somehow faster than the mercenary. Deadpool gave him time to get out the door and up the stairs, though, in his reverie. He cursed, hit himself in the head, and then dashed after the man. 

Through the door and up the stairs he ran, the voices chattering obnoxiously in his head.

[Is this where we're supposed to say something?]

{Did you not read the script?}

[There was a script?]

{There's always a script with the writer. She's very particular.}

[Would she forgive me if I forgot my line?]

“Shut the fuck up!” Deadpool shouted, shaking his head helplessly.

“I thought you loved the sound of my voice, Wade.”

Deadpool’s steps faltered, giving the target time to escape around a corner. He tried to run a few more feet, but ended up slowing to a halt. It was all he could do to remain standing as Peter said, “I thought you loved _me_ , but perhaps I was wrong there, too.”

“How can you say that, baby boy?” Deadpool asked weakly, his eyes pinned to the ground. 

Fingers gripped his chin and lifted his head up. With a shaky gasp, Deadpool lost all strength in his legs and collapsed onto his knees. Peter smiled wickedly down at him, his hand still firmly on Deadpool’s chin.

“Look at me, Wade,” he ordered, and Deadpool obeyed. “Look what you did to me. I'm just a shadow”--giggle--“of what I once was. And you did this to me.”

“I didn't,” Deadpool insisted, but his voice was high-pitched and whiny. “I couldn't.” 

Peter threw his head back and laughed. It was a cold, unforgiving sound that pierced Deadpool’s ears like a gunshot. He begged, “I'm working, baby. I need to go.”

Fingers tightened. “So that's it?” Peter demanded. “That's all you have to say? I'm dead because of you, and all you care about is work?” He pulled Deadpool up by his chin, fire flashing in his eyes. “You're just an insane murderer who can't do anything right. You didn't deserve me to begin with.”

Deadpool trembled and mewled, “I--I'm sorry, baby boy. I'm so sorry, you're right. I don't deserve you, I never did. Please,” his voice cracked, “let me go.”

“No!” Peter snapped and slapped Deadpool across the face. He let him silently. How would you go about fighting back against a ghost, anyway? “Is that all I am to you, you sick freak? Another dead man, like those guards you killed on the way in here?” 

Only Peter said that word. Even the usual voices always said “un-alived”. But Peter was crueller than the other two, so he got away with more.

{Rude.}

[We were here first!]

“You're not,” Deadpool couldn't coax his voice above a whisper.

Peter laughed. Oh Jesus, how he laughed. He stared Deadpool in the eyes as he did it, and Deadpool felt himself start to crumple again. 

The hallway was closing in on them. The target was probably already gone and Deadpool would have to track him down, just to go through this again. 

In the beginning, so many years ago Deadpool didn't care to count (eleven), Peter quickly found out about Wade’s image issues. It took two years of worshipping and crooning to even come close to fixing the problem, but he made it his mission to ensure Wade learned that he was a human being worthy of happiness. Wade would come home from missions and Peter would check his body for wounds and treat them, never mind that they'd heal in a few hours. He'd pepper kisses on every scar that marred Wade’s body whenever he was feeling especially disgusting. He would wake him up from every nightmare--even though Wade sometimes attacked him before realizing it was his Petey, not an enemy--and hold him tightly until he calmed down. After he finally met her, he’d care for Ellie when Wade was away on missions. 

The new Peter used Deadpool’s self-hatred against him. He validated every deprecating thought that crossed Deadpool’s mind, often giggling as he did it. If Deadpool could think, he’d imagine how the old Peter would feel about the new one. But he couldn’t, the voice of his dead lover was too loud. 

So instead he brought his gun to his head, forgetting all about his mission, and blasted a hole in his brain. 

~3224 Days Before~

“Good morning, beautiful,” Wade looked up from his comic book--literally his comic book--and grinned.

Peter shuffled into the kitchen silently, his t-shirt twisted around his torso and his hair spiked haphazardly around his head like a brunet halo. Wade’s mouth practically watered at how unbelievably sexy he was. “When did you get here?”

Wade glanced up in thought. “A few hours ago. You were so adorable I couldn’t stand to wake you.”

Peter made a short noise and grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. “Did you buy that?” He asked, nodding toward the open box of cereal in front of Wade.

“You seriously need more variety in your diet, baby boy,” Wade teased. 

“That’s all sugar, though.”

“You only live once, sweetheart,” Wade grinned.

Peter shook his head, but grabbed up the box anyway and poured some in his bowl. Wade watched him eat silently, enchanted by the way his jaw worked as he chewed. He dropped his chin down on his fist, smiling. How could Earth come up with a design for such a perfect specimen? Even more pressing, how could such a perfect specimen take interest in a pizza-face like him? It didn’t make sense, but then again, nothing in Wade’s life made sense. Instead of questioning it, he decided it was best to just roll with it. 

Peter glanced up at him after a few minutes, eyebrows raised, “Can I help you?”

Wade laughed awkwardly, realizing just how long he’d been staring, “Sorry.”

Peter cocked his head, eyes grazing his boyfriend’s face. It always amazed Wade that Peter could look at his face and not puke. In fact, it almost seemed like Peter enjoyed looking at him. There had to be something wrong in his head, but once again, Wade didn’t feel like questioning it. 

A gasp escaped Wade’s lips as Peter reached across the table and brushed his fingers gently across his scarred cheek. “What’s that for?” he asked breathily.

“Nothing,” Peter retracted his hand, a warm blush spreading across his cheeks. 

The place his hand had been ached, as if it missed his touch. Wade ignored it though and grabbed Peter’s empty bowl. He sang loudly and off-key as he washed all the dishes in the sink. “ _Shortie crunk so fresh so clean can she fuck that? Question been harassing me in the mind, this bitch is fine, I done came to the club about 50 11 times. Now I can play with yo--_ ”

“Wade,” Peter appeared by his shoulder.

“Yes, sweetums?” he answered.

“I’m twenty-one. An adult.”

Wade furrowed his non-existent eyebrows. “Yes you are. Congrats on that realization.”

Peter slugged his arm, but he was grinning. “The point is I can wash my own dishes.”

With a hip check, Wade nudged him out of the way. “You can, but I’m doing it.”

“Yeah, but what kind of host does that make me?” 

“You’re my boyfriend,” Wade said darkly. “You’re not my host.”

[I thought the big guy wasn’t allowed to do dishes!]

{Well obviously there has to be a reason for that, moron. This is a flashback, they’ve only been together for two months.}

[Oh yeah.]

Peter reached out and cupped his hand around Wade’s head, his pinkie tickling the edge of his ear. Wade leaned into his hand, “You’re distracting me, Petey.” 

The warmth of his hand fell away and Wade felt a stab of disappointment. Peter sat back down at the table, pulling the comic book towards him. 

Wade was putting the dishes away--including the ones from Peter’s dinner the night before--when it happened. He was singing and not paying attention and a glass fell out of his hand. They both jumped as it shattered on the tiled floor. Wade’s face crumpled and he quickly blubbered apologies that probably couldn’t be understood. 

Peter was suddenly in front of him and his hands gripped Wade’s face. “It’s okay. It’s just a cup.”

“It was a glass,” Wade murmured. “It was probably expensive. I’ll buy you another one, I promise. I’ll buy you ten more--”

“Wade, honey, it’s okay,” Peter smiled. “Really, it is. I wouldn’t lie. Thank you for cleaning up my mess. I’ll get this up and put the rest of the dishes away, okay?”

He’d never called Wade a pet name before. Wade blushed as Peter leaned forward and pecked his lips. His heart rate spiked--sure, they’d had their first kiss a long time ago, but it still sent a thrill through him whenever Peter touched him. “Okay,” he said, his voice breathy.

Peter smiled and kissed him again, this time longer and hungrier. Wade snaked his arms around the younger’s waist and tugged him impossibly close. And then took a step back, for there was nothing that’d ruin the moment more than Wade Jr. poking his head up.

[Ha! Innuendos.]

{I hate you so much.}

When he pulled away and opened his delicious hazel eyes, Peter said clearly, “I love you.”

With that he dropped his hands and moved around Wade, grabbing a broom.

Wade froze, his slow brain registering what just happened. His lungs must have forgotten how to work and his mouth opened and closed like a fish. 

Peter said he loved him.

[Is the big guy going to have a stroke?]

“Say that again,” Wade begged quietly.

“What?” Peter asked, not looking up from the pile of broken glass.

“Did I hear you right?” Wade asked, not daring to believe it.

“I’m sure you did,” Peter said, but he had stopped moving too.

“Look at me, baby boy,” Wade murmured.

Peter didn’t, his eyes remaining fixated on the glass. Wade shuffled closer to him, but before he could touch him, Peter jumped up and whirled on him. “I love you, okay? I know you didn’t want this to get serious but there it is. I love you, and if you’re going to break up with me because of it then just get it over with.”

He turned back to the broken glass, but Wade grabbed his arm and tugged him back. He couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face. “You love me.”

Peter huffed impatiently. “I do.”

Wade kissed him fiercely. “God, I love you, Petey. I love you so much and holy shit, you love me back! Why would you think I didn’t want this to get serious? Jesus Christ, baby boy, I can’t even tell you how long I’ve fantasized about this. Goddamn, it’s real!” He enveloped Peter in a bone-crushing hug, laughing helplessly. “I love you too!”

“Okay, Wade,” Peter squeaked, trying to catch his breath, “I’m really super happy we’re so in love, but please let me go. My healing factor isn’t as good as yours.”

“Oh,” Wade dropped his arms, stepping back sheepishly, “sorry.” He broke out in a grin again, “We should celebrate.”

“What?” Peter snorted, dumping the glass in the trashcan. “Celebrate what?”

“I don’t know, maybe that heaven’s gift to mankind himself loves me,” Wade laughed. He was practically jumping up and down in his excitement.

Peter worked his jaw thoughtfully, then decided to humor his boyfriend. “Okay, what do you have in mind?”

“Something that involves chimichangas,” Wade said instantly.

“Ugh,” Peter’s nose wrinkled. “I should have guessed.”

“What? Do you not want chimis?” Wade asked incredulously, “How can you not like chimis? They’re the best things on earth besides you!”

“I love chimichangas, just not everyday.”

“We don’t eat them everyday!”

“Wade,” Peter gave him a look, but his eyes were sparkling humorously, “we ate chimichangas yesterday and the day before.”

“Oh yeah,” Wade hesitated, then grinned. “Tacos, then!”

Peter sighed loudly, but consented. “When?”

“I’ll pick you up around six,” Wade said. “Does that work?”

“Sure,” Peter nodded.

Wade swung out the window, blowing Peter a kiss goodbye, and ran home. He had a date to plan, and it had to be the best event of their relationship to date. Because holy shit, Peter Benjamin Parker loved him.

~755 Days After~

It took a day and a half to find the target and finally kill him. Putting a bullet in his head couldn’t have felt better. Normally, Deadpool would try to find enjoyment wherever he was sent before he returned to the apartment he used to share with Peter, but this time it was all he could do to go collect his money before darting home. 

He dropped onto his couch with a huff, rubbing his bald head. The old Peter would be curled up in his lap right now, tracing his fingers along the wounds on his face distractedly. But Deadpool was dealing with the new Peter, and the only thing he did was laugh.

“It took you long enough to come home.”

“It wouldn’t have been quite so long if you didn’t distract me,” Deadpool said quietly. 

[I feel really left out. Seriously, when was the last time we had a wholesome conversation with the big guy?]

{We don’t even like him.}

[Still, it’s the principle!]

The new Peter was nicer when Deadpool was at the apartment. It was his and the old Peter’s home; the new Peter seemed to be stronger there. It made sense--Deadpool had more memories of him enclosed in the walls.

“Would you rather I stay silent?”

“Kinda.”

Peter hissed, “You’d go even more insane if you didn’t hear me.”

It was true, so Deadpool didn’t deny it. Instead, he stood and stumbled to the kitchen, grabbing a beer out of the fridge. He took a swig and shouted, “You know what’s great, baby boy?” Gulp. “What with my healing factor, I can’t get drunk!” Chug. “Isn’t that great? I can’t even fucking drink you away.”

“You’re pathetic,” Peter said gently.

“I know! Oh sweet Jesus, isn’t that the truth? Fuck, you’ve always been right about everything.” Deadpool snapped, downing the last of the beer and turning to grab another one. “You ruined me, baby boy. I was fine until I met you.”

“That’s not true,” the phantom of his boyfriend said truthfully.

“Right again, bucko,” Deadpool growled.

Deadpool wasn’t fine until he met Peter. In fact, he was a walking corpse. He’d turned into a meat bag, nothing more. On a mission, he’d do whatever it took to get the job done. He’d endure torture beyond imaginings and then finish his task and get paid. The joys of his life consisted of lukewarm beer and cheap chimichangas. Wade had died. But then Peter--young and sickeningly gorgeous--changed everything. Color reappeared in Deadpool’s life and he did everything in his power to get closer to the web-slinger. At first it was difficult--Peter was just barely nineteen when they first met, and the thirty-five-year-old was careful to remain strictly friendly. But then Peter turned twenty-one and wanted to have his first drink with his best friend Wade, and he drank a little too much. He said a little too much, too, and Wade learned just how Peter Parker felt about him. God, Wade had never been so terrified as when Peter looked at him with earnest, misty eyes and expressed his...fantasies. As much as Wade wanted to act out the scenarios he’d dreamt of for longer than he’d care to admit, Peter was drunk. So instead, he led him to his bed and made sure he was on his side so he wouldn’t drown in any puke he hurled up. And Wade found that it was well worth it to wait. Because if Peter was glorious in his regular life, he was godlike in the bedroom.

“You love me,” Peter murmured sweetly. “You miss me. You wish you could die just to be with me.”

“Shut up,” Deadpool ordered, then crumpled forward. “Please.”

“Well you can’t die,” the dead man’s voice snarled. “I can, and I did. Now you’re stuck here without me.”

Deadpool silently grabbed a third beer.

~3224 Days Before~

Their date had been going swimmingly. Peter was smiling and happy throughout the night, even when Wade made his crass jokes. 

Of course, what's a night on the town if heroes aren't needed? The problem came from a blaring car alarm that interrupted the beginning of a lovely kiss in the middle of the sidewalk. Peter ran off to change with an apologetic smile and his boyfriend took that as a cue to go investigate.

“This is rich,” Wade grinned maliciously. “Don’t you boys have homework to do?”

The group of vandals turned to him and he counted six. One stepped forward, shoulders thrown back--the presumable leader. “Why don’t you get out of here, man, and we won’t hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t be worried about me,” Wade said, biting back a laugh. “After all, you’re the ones committing the crime here.”

“You gonna stop us?” 

The guy couldn’t have been older than Peter. He pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and advanced on Wade, who put his hands up in amusement. “Let’s not be hasty here, kiddo. You wouldn’t want to do something that’d get you in trouble.”

And still the man came, his buddies joining him in the march. This was just too much fun. He’d have them all lying on the ground with broken necks if Peter didn’t exist, but Wade knew better than to do something like that now. So instead, he let them stalk closer. 

Suddenly, there was a change in the air and Wade chuckled. If he didn’t know what to look for, he’d have been taken by surprise too when Peter--Spider-man, that is--dropped in front of him. Wade clapped his hands excitedly, “Hey, baby boy!”

Wade could practically feel the younger roll his eyes. “Is this it?”

“Yep, sorry to disappoint,” Wade grinned.

The gang had stopped moving. The leader growled irritably and lurched forward, knife flailing. 

With a flick of his wrist, Peter glued him to the wall. The rest of the group froze, eyeing each other warily. Wade murmured something about his “kinky baby boy” that Peter ignored, making light work of two more baddies. The other three turned and split, and Wade broke into a cackle. “Can I, Spider-man?!”

Peter sighed, “If you kill them--”

“I’m hurt you’d think so lowly of me,” Wade threw over his shoulder, already sprinting after the deserters.

Wade quickly caught up to the slowest one and jumped up, driving his feet into the man’s back. He fell forward, shouting in surprise, and Wade landed over him, already running by the time his feet hit the ground. The guy would probably stand, but Peter would be there to tie him up. Wade had other problems. Two, in fact. 

The next guy went down just as easily as the first when Wade dropped, knocking his legs out from under him. It was the last guy that posed the problem, for he was the one who pulled a gun out. Wade’s grin quickly faded as he couldn’t dodge in time and felt a bullet tear through his arm. “Shit! Not fair!”

The fucker stumbled back in terror when Wade didn’t fall. Red splotched the scarred man’s vision and he lurched forward, snarling, “You fucking piece of fucking shit, I’m going to rip your intestines out and shove them right up your a--”

“Wade!”

He groaned, “You just got lucky, man.” With that, he turned to Spider-man, “Hey sweetheart, you know I wasn’t being serious about all that. I wouldn’t--”

“Stand back,” Peter snapped, a darkness in his voice that Wade had never heard.

“Uh, what’s that?”

“Get...back.”

Wade noticed Spider-man was staring at the hole in his arm. He lifted it experimentally. “It’s okay, baby boy, it’ll--holy shit!”

Spider-man darted around him and drove his fist into the vandal’s face. Wade hung back obediently, eyes widening as his boyfriend beat the everloving shit out of the guy. 

When the man was reduced to a pulpy mess, Peter turned toward Wade and stomped closer, ripping off his mask as he went. “Hey, baby boy,” Wade said warily, “be careful, you never know who’s around to see your pretty face.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Peter growled as he smashed his mouth to Wade’s. “He fucking shot you. I heard the gunshot and oh God, Wade, I’m so sorry.”

Peter hadn’t seen what happened to Wade on his missions yet. Discovering it for the first time was probably much worse than the stories he'd heard, anyway.

Wade began to explain how it was okay, he was used to it, but then Peter’s tongue was suddenly in his mouth and probing his throat and every coherent thought dissipated. 

“Baby boy,” Wade groaned. 

“Stop,” Peter ordered, pulling away. “Just shut up.”

Wade gulped and Peter’s eyes followed the movement before he planted his lips over Wade’s Adam's apple.

“Just let me do this,” Peter whispered.

“Far be it from me to stop you, but can we pause and resume elsewhere? Unless you want your man cherry broke in an alley.” Peter froze, his tongue still on Wade’s throat, and he internally punched his own teeth in. “Shit, sorry, I thought this was going in an entirely different direction. I'm so stupid, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--”

“No, you're right,” Peter cut him off, his voice oddly distant as he pulled away. “Why don't we...pause.”

Whether he liked to admit it or not, Wade felt a stab of disappointment. He knew his boyfriend was young and had never fucked a man, so he wanted to be good. But that didn't mean he didn't miss the feeling of being up someone's ass balls deep. 

{Old habits die hard.}

[Who says it's a habit? It's a lifestyle choice, baby!]

At any rate, he probably just ruined any chance he had. 

“I’ll take you home,” Wade mumbled after a considerable period of silence.

“Okay,” Peter murmured, refusing to look up at him.

The couple walked back to where Peter had left his clothes and Wade turned away to let him change, ignoring the insistent urge to watch the young man work. 

New York seemed eerily quiet. Sure, there was still the nonstop honking and shouting and noise of the streets, but the heavy silence hovering over Wade’s head drowned it all out. It was as if the city was making sure he understood his idiocy. Even the voices were silent somehow. 

Wade dreaded stepping up to Peter’s door. He knew it would be the last time he saw that door, that kitchen, that window. Deep down, he knew he’d just obliterated their relationship before it had even started. But eventually there was the apartment building, and then there was the elevator, and then there was the hallway, and then there, like a wart, was the door.

They stopped in front of it, neither speaking for awhile. Wade shuffled awkwardly before finally cutting to the chase. “Look, I get it it. I’m an awful person. I just assumed and it was wrong and I’m sorry ba--Peter. I’ll--goodnight.”

Wade turned, but suddenly there was a cool, slender hand gripping his wrist. He glanced back to find wide hazel eyes. “Don’t go,” Peter murmured. “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”

{Hot damn.}

[Virgin Peter is the cutest Peter.]

In a flash, the door was shut behind them and the dark apartment welcomed them like an old friend. Lips smashed together, hands trailed up and down arms and shoulders and hips, and shirts were torn off. Peter pulled back, panting and red-faced. “Bedroom.”

“Whatever you say, baby boy,” Wade grinned and scooped the younger man into his arms.

He set Peter on the bed and shakily brushed his fingertips along his soft pale chest. Peter opened his eyes, breaths coming in soft puffs. “Are you okay?”

Wade was more than okay. And also much less. He tried to drown out his thoughts by kissing Peter, gasping and panting and sweating. The younger hummed beneath him and pulled him closer. “Wait,” Wade gasped, leaning back. “Is this…”

He waved noncommittally between them and Peter giggled (which only served to make Wade harder), nodding, “It’s okay.”

Still, Wade was hesitant. His fingers hovered over the button on Peter’s pants. “Can I…?”

Peter suddenly lifted his hips so his crotch was pressed against Wade’s palm. A gasp caught in the scarred man’s throat--Peter was unbelievably, deliciously hard. “What do you think?” Peter sighed sarcastically, lolling his head back when Wade’s fingers twitched around the growing mound in his pants.

And so Wade undid the skinny jeans and wiggled them off Peter’s legs so that he was left only in his boxers. Goosebumps pimpled his porcelain skin as Wade’s eyes raked over every inch of his body. “You’re so beautiful.”

Peter’s hand came up to caress Wade’s cheek. “You are.”

[I think Petey here needs some new glasses.]

A pool of heat was forming in the scarred man’s stomach, but sickness was too. He stood up from the bed, leaving Peter to squirm. The young man sat up, his abs flexing as he went. “Wade?”

“How can you say that?” It came out a broken whisper.

“Say what?” Peter asked, a blush starting to rise in his cheeks.

“You’re perfect,” Wade said, beginning to pace back and forth at the foot of the bed. “You’re everything that’s good in the world, baby boy, and I’m everything that’s awful. How can you say that I’m anything but a monster?”

“Wade.” Peter’s voice was firm enough to stop Wade’s pacing. “Come here.”

The older man obeyed meekly, stepping close enough for his knees to bump the bed. Peter scooted closer and began to work at his belt, fingers shaking with inexperience. “What are you doing, baby boy?”

“Hopefully fixing a noise problem,” Peter breathed, coaxing Wade’s pants off his hips. 

Wade submissively stepped out of the jeans pooled around his ankles and Peter wasted no time yanking down his boxers. “Peter, wha--holy shit.”

Suddenly, Peter’s hot, wet mouth clamped down around the head of Wade Jr. 

[Are we seriously sticking with that term?]

It was obviously the first blowjob Peter had ever given. He sucked in haphazard rhythms and once in awhile his teeth scraped painfully against Wade’s skin, but that didn’t matter. His member was pulsing and when Peter’s nails dug into the divots in his hips, he mewled loudly.

“Baby boy,” Wade moaned, “if you’re not careful I’m gonna--okay, stop.”

He pulled out of Peter’s mouth decisively and the younger looked up at him with worry laced in his wide eyes. His lips were red and swollen and rather eye-catching as he asked, “What’s wrong? Was I really bad?”

[You were about as good as a granny with teeth.]

{And yet the big guy is still somehow turned on.}

Wade laughed breathily, “Of course not, baby boy. I just want to--I mean--uh, if it’s okay, I was wondering--say no if you have any doubts at all, okay? But, uh--”

Peter captured his face in his hands. “Wade, you’re rambling.”

“Really? Heh,” Wade shook his head. “God, you’re wonderful, you know that? Could I...could I fuck you?”

Peter looked down, a blush rising in his cheeks. Wade was just about to apologize when he mumbled, “Please.”

{Sweet Jesus fucking all that is holy.}

[That’s hot!]

Wade helped him out of his boxers and tossed them aside, gazing down at the younger man in all his exposed glory. 

“Drawer,” Peter gasped.

If someone told Wade that he’d be getting ready to fuck the actual Spider-man, he’d shoot them for being rude and playing with his feelings. Yet here he was, soaking his fingers in lube. 

“You’ve never...right?” Wade asked.

Peter shook his head in response and Wade trailed a finger around his entrance. Peter gasped at the touch and Wade took that as a cue to slip it inside. Throwing his head back, the younger man squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the sheets in his fists. Wade stayed frozen until he calmed down before pushing his finger the rest of the way in. He gently added a second, pushing and pulling and scissoring little by little. When the younger nodded, eyes still shut, Wade pulled his fingers out and rummaged in the drawer again.

Peter ended up being such a gay-sex virgin that he didn’t have a proper condom for anal, but for once Wade was able to pull through. He pulled one out of the pocket of his pants and in an instant the rubber was torn out of its package and rolled onto his dick.

Wade pulled Peter’s legs up to rest on his shoulders and then lined up at his entrance. “Are you sure?”

“Please,” Peter mewled, and he was so beautiful, so vulnerable, lying there with his legs hooked around Wade’s neck that he had to oblige. 

Wade pushed forward painstakingly slow, moaning in time with Peter as his member was engulfed in heat. “Are you okay?”

Peter’s only response was a sigh and he opened his heavy-lidded eyes to gaze lustfully up at his scarred boyfriend. 

Wade rocked forward, pushing deeper with each thrust. Suddenly, when Wade was nearly balls deep, Peter keened deafeningly and Wade knew he’d found that incredible thing called a prostate. He sped up his thrusts, only becoming more turned on at the sheen of sweat that clung to Peter’s chest. When his member was fully inside the lithe man, they both released obnoxious groans. 

In attempt at a warning, Wade rasped, “I’m close.”

“Me too,” Peter whispered. 

Wade grabbed his unattended cock and rubbed it in time with his thrusts. With a gasp, Peter came in hot white ribbons all over Wade’s chest. In an instant, Wade’s own load was shooting inside the condom.

“Fuck!” Wade shouted before collapsing onto Peter’s chest, pulling out of him.

After a long, incredibly sexy moment of panting and gasping and sweating, Wade got up and ripped the condom off. After tying it in a knot, he stumbled to the bathroom for a towel. When he returned, he found Peter on the verge of sleep. He couldn't help the breathy laugh that escaped his throat as he began to clean off his stomach. Peter weakly held up a hand to stop him, “Let me just...look at you.”

[Hot damn!] 

Far be it from Wade to deny his baby boy anything.


	2. Haunting Wade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is dead. He’s been dead for two years. But he’s still with Wade. He haunts him every second of the day. Wade turns around and there he is, watching him through his dingy apartment window. His voice has been added to the cacophony of Wade’s mind. And Ellie is growing up alone.
> 
> [Yellow box]  
> {White box}

~756 Days After~

Eleanor was never late. She always showed up at the door at eight am sharp, her purple hoodie skewed on her shoulder and her black hair in a messy ponytail. When Peter was around, they’d greet each other with a secret handshake that even Wade wasn’t allowed to learn and then she’d go to her biological father for a bear hug. A weekend wasn’t much time for lots of fun, but the three of them always made it count. They’d go for walks and play video games and order take-out, and no matter what had gone on during the week, Saturday and Sunday were filled with laughter. Peter would never let it happen any other way. 

After Peter left, Deadpool and Ellie sat on the couch staring at the TV, sometimes not watching anything at all. Ellie would order chimichangas and hopelessly beg her dad to eat, though the only response was a blank stare. At first, Deadpool tried to pretend to be okay for her. She was only fifteen when it happened, and though she was old enough to understand the permanency of it, she would sometimes talk of Peter as if he was still alive. Deadpool tried to pretend it didn’t hurt every time she called for Papa instead of Dad to help with her homework, but he wasn’t that good of an actor. Eventually, she just stopped calling for anyone.

Deadpool still tried to pretend that he was okay. When Eleanor walked into the dingy living room, now seventeen and old enough to decide where she lived as far as her dad was concerned, she crossed to him and silently cleaned up the mess of beer bottles and cans as he continued to sit, staring blindly into the distance. After the coffee table--once covered with mugs of tea, newspapers with Peter’s photography plastered to the front, and Eleanor’s drawings--was cleared of greasy napkins, broken bottles, and crumpled cans, she sat down beside Deadpool and reached to grip his hand. 

“Wake up, Dad,” she teased halfheartedly.

He made a noise in his throat and forced himself to ask, “How was school?”

She shrugged, “Fine.”

“Do you have your nerd stuff ready for college?”

Eleanor had written a detailed paper on the psychology of losing a loved one and what it did to the brain. Peter had turned her into quite the scientist, and it had paid off. She had already been accepted into Yale, Stanford, and Princeton, though she wouldn’t graduate for another six months. Deadpool would never tell her--he would never crush her dreams, he was so proud of her for the young woman she’d turned into--but he dreaded the day she left for a fancy university and left him forever. She was all that was left that was sane in his life. Sometimes, he’d see her as the eight-year-old that would share ice cream dinners with him, not the seventeen-year-old who was growing up far too quickly, and he’d feel a spark of feeling deep in his chest. It dissipated almost instantly, but it was there. 

The ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “Yeah, Dad. It's all ready.”

“Which one are you going to again?”

Eleanor made a face. “I'm not sure yet. They're all pretty great, but I was thinking about maybe…” She trailed off into silence, staring at the dingy carpet.

“What were you thinking about, kiddo?” Deadpool asked.

“Well, I was thinking I should maybe stay in New York. To be closer to family,” she said softly.

To be closer to Deadpool, that is. Eleanor would never admit it, but her dad knew that was what she really meant. He was a broken mess, and she was going to try to fix him no matter what it took, even if she had to give up her life.

“No,” Deadpool growled quietly. “You’re not doing that.”

“What?” 

“I won’t let you,” he feigned a wooden smile. “You have dreams to follow and big science people to impress. I’m a grown man, sweetie, I can take care of myself.”

“Oh yeah?” She challenged, “When was the last time you ate? The last time you cleaned up around here? How about the last time you showered?”

These days, her weekend visits often showcased one of these conversations. Deadpool would try to convince her he was okay, but she always saw right through him. He forgot that she’d grown up too fast the last two years after Peter left. He tried to pretend she was still the silly fifteen-year-old whose only worries were science fair projects and homework and boys. But that wasn’t reality; she was an adult now, far more mature than Deadpool could ever hope to be. She had turned into the parent, while Deadpool became the depressed child. 

“I don’t have to eat,” Deadpool reminded her. “And why shower when you’re the only one around to impress?”

“That’s exactly why you should shower,” she snapped, her teenage anger finally showing through. “To try and convince me that you’re okay.”

“I _am_ okay, Ellie-belly,” Deadpool breathed.

Eleanor turned a dark glare on him. 

And then she said something cruel. Something Deadpool never thought she’d dare say. Something that made him want to break every bone in his body just to drown out the pain her words caused.

“Papa would hate who you’ve become.”

[Shots fired!]

{Would you shut up?}

Deadpool stared at her, mouth gaping. Then, all at once, her words registered in his brain and agony overtook his confusion. Without even meeting her eyes, he stood and left the living room. Eleanor called after him, “Daddy, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

The door to his bedroom clicked shut behind Deadpool, drowning out the last of her sentence.

~3041 Days Before~

“You’ve met Aunt May, Wade,” Peter had pointed out one day while putting dishes away.

“Indeed I have,” his boyfriend had responded, not looking up from the pile of dust he had swept up. “And I must say she’s the coolest lady I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Yet I haven’t met Eleanor.”

“Yes you have,” Wade had said.

“As Spider-man,” Peter had responded. “What about as Peter? As your boyfriend?”

Wade had hesitated, then said, “Do you want to?”

“Wade,” Peter giggled. “I’ve been with you for almost a year. Of course I want to meet your daughter.”

Wade had always visited Ellie at night for dinner and sometimes she’d go to his apartment on the weekends. But he never thought Peter was into kids, so he never invited him.

Never had Wade imagined he’d find himself in such a predicament, riding in a taxi with Peter to go have dinner with Ellie. But hey, who was he to complain?

[I like that kid. She’s sweet.]

{I still don’t think there’s any way she could be related to the big guy.}

Ellie and her foster mom, Emily Preston, lived outside the city in a small house with a backyard, where Wade would often meet her. Today, though, he and Peter walked up and knocked on the front door. Ellie opened it instantly, grinning toothily up at them. “Daddy!” Wade hardly had time to crouch down before she launched herself into his arms, squealing with childish laughter. When she had calmed down, she reached a hand over Wade’s shoulder and said, “Hi, Uncle Spidey!”

Wade glanced back to find Peter letting her wrap her small hand around his, smiling strangely. He said kindly, “Hey, Ellie, it’s nice to meet you. But let’s call me Peter, if that’s okay with you.”

“Peter,” Ellie said, tasting it. “Okay!”

Wade stood and Ellie curled her legs around his waist, hugging him tightly. Emily came out and greeted them, smiling widely, before handing Ellie a dark pink backpack and kissing her forehead goodbye.

[I thought Emily and Ellie lived in Arizona?]

{And I think you’re an idiot.} 

With that, Wade let Ellie down and she grabbed his and Peter’s hands as they strolled down the sidewalk. Ellie filled Peter in on all her accomplishments that week and he grinned encouragingly her. Wade couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so content. 

“Did Daddy tell you I got a medal in swimming?” she suddenly asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said, smiling at Wade. “Good job, Ellie.”

“Thanks,” she singsonged, dropping the men’s hands and skipping ahead.

Wade’s heart rate spiked. “Ellie-belly, don’t go too far. I’d feel better if you held Peter’s hand, or mine.”

She sighed loudly, slumping over dramatically as she trotted back and grabbed his scarred hand. “Fine, Daddy,” she said. Then, to Peter, she added, “He’s too protective, don’t you think?”

“I think he just loves you very much,” Peter said, visibly biting back a laugh.

“Finally, someone gets it,” Wade grinned.

They ate tacos because Ellie liked them more than chimichangas and then they grabbed ice cream on their walk back to her house. At her insistence, they stayed and played on her swingset in the backyard. Ellie seemed to instantly adore Peter and he seemed to feel the same, and Wade couldn’t have possibly been happier.

She was eight years old when she first met Peter. Seven years later, she’d stop smiling like she did that day. 

~757 Days After~ 

Eleanor dropped a plate of microwaved burritos in front of Deadpool. “Eat or I’m going to get a hose and shove it down your throat and make you.”

Deadpool gazed blankly up at her. “What makes you think you’d be able to do that?”

“You won’t hurt me,” she said calmly. “But I’m fine with hurting you.”

He made a noise in his throat and took the plate, but he didn’t touch the food. Eleanor sighed and sat down beside him, grabbing the remote. Before she could press the power button, Deadpool said, “It doesn’t work anymore.”

“What happened to it?” she asked dryly.

“I threw a full beer bottle at it,” her dad responded.

“Why?”

Deadpool worked his jaw thoughtfully. Suddenly, Peter’s voice murmured, “You threw that bottle at me because you’re too stupid to know that I’m not real.”

A mixture of shock and dread swirled in Deadpool’s stomach. The new Peter hardly ever spoken to him when Eleanor was around. And even when he did, it wasn’t a long sentence like that. Eleanor didn’t even know her dad saw him. Deadpool said hauntedly, “I don’t know.”

“You do too know,” Peter hissed.

[This is getting confusing.]

“Dad, you can’t keep this up. I’m afraid for you,” Eleanor cooed, placing a hand on his arm.

Peter giggled in Deadpool’s brain, and the sound was like a gunshot tearing through his eardrums.

{Seriously, can he stop laughing for two seconds? It’s taking the humor out of everything else.}

[He’s not even that funny.]

“Dad?” 

“Wade, answer your daughter. Stop being a madman. She’s going to stop loving you and you’ll lose her too,” Peter murmured.

The noise in his brain was starting to all blend together like a thousand screams. Deadpool jumped up, his fingers itching for his gun. “I--I’ll be right back.”

Before Eleanor could respond, he was out the door and sprinting down the stairs, focusing on not a murdering himself in the middle of the building. Peter followed him down the dim hallways, cackling at his helplessness. “You’re such a pathetic freak, and now Ellie knows it too,” he said.

“Stop torturing me!” Deadpool begged, bursting into the smoky sunlight of the street. He rounded the corner and collapsed in an alley, burying his face in his scarred hands.

And just like that, silence overtook his marred brain. There wasn’t even the telltale jingle of laughter to haunt him, and that was almost worse than hearing Peter’s voice.

Eleanor found him an hour or so later, sitting against a brick wall and toying with a long shard of broken glass. She gently pulled the weapon from his hands and coaxed him to his feet, helping him back to the apartment.

They sat in silence for a long time, not looking at each other. Deadpool hoped Eleanor would let it go and forget what she’d witnessed, but the sane part of him knew that’d never happen. She was too smart, too loving, and too much like him.

“Dad?” she murmured, as if she was approaching a feral cat. “Can we talk about that?”

“What’s there to talk about?” Deadpool asked quietly. “You knew I had voices in my head.”

“How many are there?” 

“There’s...two.”

“Liar,” Peter hissed, and Deadpool almost broke out sobbing.

“Are you sure, Dad?” Eleanor asked.

Deadpool hung his head. “There’s the usual two, but then there’s--there’s another one now too.”

[Now he acknowledges us!]

{About time.}

“Dad,” Eleanor asked, and Deadpool glanced at her. “Do you...do you hear Papa?”

Deadpool forced himself to smile. “No, baby, I don’t.”

“I think you’re lying to me,” she said.

“Let’s not talk about this, Ellie-belly,” Deadpool breathed. “Let’s just play a boardgame or something. Why don’t you read me your latest, uh, whatever it’s called, thesis.”

“Why do you want to do this alone?” Eleanor asked insistently. “I want to help you. I had to deal with it alone, and it almost made me kill mys--anyway, I can’t even imagine how you feel.”

Her words were a punch to the gut. Deadpool forced himself to speak, “I’m so sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m a sucky father,” he continued. “I’m supposed to be there for you, not the other way around. I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“It’s okay, Dad, I’m better now.” She smiled gently, “I can take care of you, so let me.”

“I’m the parent here,” Deadpool said miserably. “At least, that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“Stop it, Dad, I love you and I don’t mind taking care of you,” Eleanor said, and then pushed herself up. “Let’s go get ice cream, okay? Please?”

It took all the strength he had, but Deadpool managed to force himself to his feet. 

~2664 Days Before~

Preston dropped Ellie off with the couple to help them move into the apartment they would share. Wade was trying not to skip everywhere in excitement; never in a million years did he think he’d be moving in with Spider-man.

“Why don’t you grab that one, kiddo?” Peter asked, not even remotely tired as he carried the TV up the stairs by himself.

Ellie obeyed with an enthusiastic “Okay!” and hauled the box labeled “silverware” up to the kitchen. Preston smiled at her and Peter before turning to Wade, who was busying himself with pulling boxes and bags out of the truck. “Are you going to have enough space in there for all this?”

Wade shrugged, “I can get rid of some of my stuff just as long as Peter has room. But it’s a pretty big apartment, so it really shouldn’t be a problem.”

“So is this,” she waved up to the building, “a permanent thing?”

Squirming, Wade said, “I don’t know, I hope so. We haven’t really talked about it.”

“You’ve been together for almost two years,” Emily pointed out. “That’s the longest relationship of yours I can remember in a long time.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been this serious,” Wade admitted. “But Peter’s still young. I can’t expect him to give up his life, not for me.” He hauled a bag of clothes over his shoulder and balanced a box labeled “camera equipment (be VERY careful with this, Wade)” on his free arm. “Besides, it’s not like I’m the kind of guy you can exactly grow old with.”

“That’s not all it’s about, Wade,” Emily said gently, taking the box from him. “Let’s make sure Peter doesn’t find a way to kill you for good. I don’t want to have to explain that to Ellie if you drop this,” she gestured to the heavy load in her dark arms.

“Always looking out for me, aren’t you?” Wade grinned and followed the cyborg up the stairs.

Peter was busy teaching Ellie how to connect the wires on the television but paused long enough to wave Wade over. “Look at our little electrician.”

“Good job, Ellie-belly,” Wade cooed, running a scarred hand through the child’s long dark hair. 

“Daddy, I’m concentrating!” she squealed, pulling away from his touch.

“Ah, of course, forgive me,” Wade straightened and moved his hand to Peter’s cheek, caressing it gently. “How are you doing, Petey?”

Peter leaned into his hand, gazing up with milky hazel puppy eyes. “I’m good. What’s left down there?”

Wade circled his thumb against the younger’s skin thoughtfully. “We could probably finish getting it all up here in a few minutes.”

Emily started back down to the truck, calling for Ellie over her shoulder. The nine-year-old hopped to her feet and skipped after her foster mother as Peter grabbed Wade’s hand and used it to haul himself to his feet. “This is our house,” he pointed out. “We should probably be doing the majority of the work.”

“You carried the TV up here by yourself,” Wade fired back, grinning.

{Though if we’re being technical, it was probably about as easy for Petey as carrying a bag of clothes would be for the big guy.} 

“Still,” Peter said, tugging Wade toward the door. 

“Here, Daddy,” Ellie handed Wade a small package of spices and condiments.

“Thanks, Ellie-belly, but can you please take this up?” Wade asked, handing it back. “Daddy’s gonna help Peter, alright?”

“Okay,” she nodded and ran back to the door of the apartment and up the stairs. 

Wade grabbed the end of the table Peter was struggling with and helped him guide it up to the apartment and into the dining room (which was really just a corner between the kitchen and living room). Ellie ran up, her hands free, and tugged on Peter’s sleeve. “Hey dad--Peter, can…” she trailed off, face burning. “Can we go finish the TV?”

Peter glanced at his boyfriend, who probably wasn’t much help at all as he was too busy gaping at his daughter. So, with a sigh, Peter dropped into a crouch to come face-to-face with the child. “Hey sweetie, you shouldn’t call me daddy, okay?”

Ellie’s head hung low and she nodded mutely, but Wade couldn’t stop the stab of disappointment that shot through his chest. Of course Peter didn’t want that sort of responsibility--he was only twenty-two, after all. “I’m sorry,” Ellie mumbled, shuffling her feet.

Lifting his hands to grip her shoulders, Peter continued, “This guy here,” he jerked his chin up in Wade’s direction, “is Daddy. It even works with his superhero name”--Wade fought the urge to roll his eyes at the word--“don’t you think? Deadpool, Daddy, it works! So we need to figure out a name that works with Peter, right?”

Ellie’s face brightened when she realized what he was saying. “So...can I call you Papa?”

Peter grinned and Wade fought the urge to wrap them both in a hug. That’d probably ruin the moment, which was something he wouldn’t dare even consider. “That sounds perfect, sweetie, but only if you want to,” Peter nodded. “After all, a papa is a special person, don’t you think?”

“You’re a special person!” Ellie giggled.

[Let’s hope Peter doesn’t break her heart, yeah?]

{We’ll kill him if he does.}

Later, after Preston and Ellie had left, Peter was curled in Wade’s lap and surfing channels. Boxes and bags lined the walls, haphazardly stacked and threatening to topple at any moment, but the couch, recliner, and table had all found their homes. The TV, thanks to Ellie and Peter, was in perfect working condition.

The scarred man was trying to hold still, as if there was a cat in his lap instead of a spider, but he couldn’t help his nervous twitching. Because what if Peter hadn’t understood the gravity of what happened? What if he thought letting Ellie start viewing him as a father was just a silly kid game? He was young, who was Wade to ask him to take up such a responsibility?

“Alright,” Peter pushed himself up and twisted around to face his boyfriend, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, baby boy,” Wade responded robotically.

“You’re lying.”

Sighing, Wade voiced his thoughts. Peter listened, growing visibly agitated with each passing word, before he finally cut him off. “Honey, do you really think I would let Ellie look at me as a father figure without understanding the severity of it? I love that kid, Wade.”

“Yeah, but you’re still so young. Do you really want to be a dad--”

“It’s not about what only I want, Wade, that’s not how relationships work,” Peter interrupted. 

“So you don’t want to be--”

Wade should have just shut up at the rate he was getting cut off. “Wade, of course I want to be her dad. Jesus Christ, you don’t get it do you? I love you and everything about you, especially Ellie. I love her like she’s my own; you have no idea how incredible it was to hear her call me dad.”

A swell of warmth rose in Wade’s chest and he fell silent, a small smile playing across his chapped lips. Peter noticed and captured it against his mouth, eyes falling shut. After pulling away, eyes still closed, he continued in a soft voice, “I love this family.” 

“What exactly is ‘this family’?” Wade asked, his voice hushed.

“You, Ellie,” he yawned and curled deeper into Wade’s side, “me, and Aunt May--hey, we need to introduce the two of them.”

“May and Ellie?”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, “unless you don't think it's a good idea.”

“I think it's a great idea, Petey,” Wade assured him, but it was no use. Peter had fallen asleep, his breath coming in gently puffs against Wade’s neck.

~6 Days After~ 

For the first time in years, Ellie didn't leave Wade’s side. She clung to his hand, trailing after him as he moved through the throng of black-clad people. He didn't try to stop her--there was a vacancy in her eyes that haunted him whenever he dared glance down to meet them. 

She didn't ask how it happened, though he knew it was at the front of her mind--he could see it in the way she fidgeted with the lace along her dress’s collar. May had taken her out to buy it specifically for the...occasion. Even at fifteen, Ellie preferred to live in sweatshirts and jeans. 

Ellie was one of the only members of the congregation to show any sort of empathy for the scarred man. Most stole glances and whispered about the Event, spreading rumors that most likely weren't true. Others offered pitiful smiles and shuffled away awkwardly, something instinctual telling them to leave the man in his shadow of depression. Wade couldn't find it in him to care. He couldn't find it in him to feel anything at all, actually; it was as if he was underwater and everything around him was deluged in a fathoms-thick haze. His voices whispered in his head, but for the first time in his entire life they were too muffled to be properly heard.

Tony Stark promised Ellie would be taken care of now that Peter’s paycheck wasn’t there for her. Steve Rogers promised Wade would have work with the Avengers now that Peter was gone (Deadpool never responded to any of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s phone calls, so he never ended up getting that work). Natasha Romanov promised to find Peter’s killers. Bruce Banner promised--

It didn’t really matter. Promises are only words. Peter had made Wade a promise once.

The sun shone brightly outside May’s home. The cliche visitors made sure to comment on it, spewing bullshit about how it was Peter giving them one last goodbye. Wade didn’t see it that way. It wasn’t good; nothing was good. Not anymore, not without Peter. 

He was brought out of his self-deprecating thoughts by May, her face much older than he’d ever seen it. “How are you, Wade?” she asked, her voice gentle.

Wade blinked at her, fishing fruitlessly for words. Ellie tightened her grip on her father’s hand and answered for him, “We’re sad.”

Such a simple word, ‘sad’. ‘Morose’ offered more detail, while ‘depressed’ gave it a medical tune. But ‘sad’ would do. It was a muted word, painted in monochromatic greys, much like Wade’s brain.

May nodded, her eyes shining with unshed tears, “Me too, Ellie.” 

Ellie shuffled for a moment before reaching out and taking May’s hand. “We can be sad together. Right, Dad?”

Wade forced himself to nod as Ellie continued, “There will come a time when we won’t be sad anymore, I promise. Papa would want us to try to be happy.”

Though her words were true, Wade couldn’t make himself believe them. Would there ever be a day when Peter, bloody and broken and unconscious, wouldn’t rest in the middle of his mind? When his voice didn’t drown out all other noise? 

And to think, Wade had been so happy seven days prior. 

“Wade?” May said, pulling him out of the ocean of thoughts he longed to drown in.

“Yes,” he mumbled, his brain buzzing. 

“Don’t leave,” she ordered softly.

He didn’t quite understand what she meant at the time. Of course he wouldn’t leave, it might as well have been his own funeral. 

It wasn’t until later, years later, when he figured it out. But by then it was far too late. 

~757 Days After~

Eleanor ended up throwing away her dad’s ice cream. After helping him clean off the melted goo that had dripped onto his hands and arms, she went to her room and shut the door. Deadpool didn’t try to stop her. 

[Jesus Christ, I don’t think I’ve ever been quiet for so long!]

{It was a nice reprieve.}

[Fuck off, you know you love me.]

{I actually hate you. A lot.}

[Well I’m the writer’s favorite, so there.]

Deadpool went to his room an hour or so later, peeling off his clothes and crawling into the creaky bed. Inhaling, he pulled the blanket up to his nose and pretended he could still smell Peter’s scent imbedded in the fibers. 

He’d tried to get rid of the blanket. It was a constant reminder that Peter was dead, nothing more. After weeks of insomnia, he finally bought a new duvet. But the first night he finally snagged a bit of sleep, the nightmares set in. Peter’s face. Peter’s laugh. Peter saying ‘I love you’ softly into the dark. And then Peter’s blood. It just kept flowing out of him until Wade was drowning. It was in his eyes and mouth, hot and metallic. Peter would open his mouth and out it would come by the gallons--his eyes would drain it too. 

At least when he lay awake, smothered by the blanket he’d shared with Peter, he couldn’t be haunted by those images. 

“You’re losing it, honey,” Peter whispered into the darkness of the room.

“I lost it a long time ago.”

“I brought you back,” the voice giggled breathily, “remember?”

“I’d like to forget,” Wade admitted.

“But you can’t. That’s the thing, isn’t it? You can’t forget me, so you’ll keep trying and I’ll keep coming back.” Laughter shook Peter’s voice. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? You can’t win. You’re stuck with me because you feel guilty, don’t you? You wish it was you who died and not me. But you can’t die, silly, isn’t that funny?” Another peal of laughter, and then, “But you’ll keep trying, and you’re such a failure that you’ll keep failing in that too!”

Something in Deadpool’s brain snapped. “Shut up! You’re not him!”

“I _am_ him, though,” Peter retorted. “I’m all you have left of him.”

Trembling, Deadpool curled into a tight ball and begged, “Please, just leave me alone.”

Peter didn’t respond, but the echoes of his giggling remained. 

~2 Days Before~

“ _When I come to the club step aside, pop the seats, don't be hating me in the line. VIP 'cause you know I gotta shine! I'm Fergie Ferg, and me love you long time. All my girls get down on the floor, back to back, drop it down real low! I'm such a lady, but I'm dancing like a--_ ”

“Dad!” Ellie shouted from her room. “I’m trying to study!”

Wade grinned and proceeded to sing at the top of his lungs and as pitchy as possible, “ _How come every time you come around my London, London bridge wanna go down like London, London, London! Wanna go down like London, London, Lon--_ ”

Peter was the one to interrupt him this time, walking out of Ellie’s bedroom and fighting a grin. “Wade, our daughter has an AP test in the morning.” His hair was still slicked back from his time at the office, but he had at least taken off his suit jacket and tie. 

“You say ‘AP test,’ I say ‘what the fuck is that?’” Wade moved away from the stove and pulled his lover in for a kiss.

With a snort, Peter slithered out of his grasp. “Sweetheart, remember what I told you about this?”

“It’s important?”

“It’s very important, Wade,” Peter reached around and pinched the scarred man’s butt, drawing forth a surprised gasp. “So don’t distract her.”

“But she has the entire weekend to study over at Agent Preston’s house!” Wade cried.

When Ellie was thirteen, she asked to live full-time with Peter and Wade. They compromised on weekdays with the men and weekends with Preston, the perfect setup for all involved.

“Wilson-Parker,” Peter said darkly. “Do not distract her.”

[Last name?]

{Both last names. Double trouble.}

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade rolled his eyes and, not one to be outdone, snaked his arms around Peter’s waist and squeezed his ass with both hands. He growled, “Are you ordering me around, baby boy?”

Peter rolled his eyes, “I could divorce you, you know.”

[I really feel like making them married is redundant considering how many times the big guy’s gotten hitched.]

{Shut your whore mouth, it’s beautiful.}

[Twat.]

{I think all we’re serving to do right here is argue out the contrasting ideas the writer has for their relationship.}

[Goddammit, I think you’re right. Hey writer, fuck off!]

Wade trailed a hand from the younger’s ass to his groin. “But you won’t, will you?” He slipped a scarred hand inside Peter’s pants and was rewarded with a shaky mewl. “Nope, my naughty spider, you won’t. You know why?”

Probably because it'd be bad for his publicity, but Wade ignored that thought. Parker Industries didn't control his baby boy as much as it seemed, he was sure of it.

He backed the smaller man against the counter. Peter’s mouth fell open and his eyes fluttered shut--beautiful. He breathed, “Why?”

Wade leaned in to nibble Peter’s ear. “Because I know just where you like to be touched. Am I turning you into putty, baby boy? You’re blushing.”

And he was indeed blushing, a delicious pink tinting his cheeks. God, even after all these years, he was so sexy. Showcasing a shit-eating grin, Wade whispered, “Call me daddy, baby boy.”

The spell instantly broke and Peter shrugged Wade off of him, laughing breathlessly. “Yeah right, weirdo. Maybe a few years ago, but not anymore.”

Wade watched his lover walk back into Ellie’s room and smirked as he noticed the sweat droplets on the back of his neck. Okay, maybe they’d been together a little too long to still be into the freaky kind of kinks, but the sex now was nothing to frown at. It was more meaningful--in the beginning, they’d bone whenever and wherever they could. It was incredible, sure, but now it was often more emotional. It was hands that had already memorized every plain rediscovering muscled territory. It was breathless ‘I love you’s and whispered curses when one of them decided to touch the other in just the right way. It wasn’t fucking, not all the time--it was usually love making it its purest form. Though Wade was able to enjoy his fair share of kinky, bed-breaking bone sessions. 

Just then, Peter’s phone rang. He jumped away from Wade and put it to his ear. “Peter Parker speaking. --What? What are they thinking down in billing? --Get Ethan on the phone--”

Wade sighed as Peter walked away down the hall, running his hands through his hair. The company was important, Wade understood that. But it seemed like it was becoming the only important thing lately...

Ellie left an hour later to spend the weekend at Preston’s house--ever since she turned fourteen she was too cool to ride with her dads when she could take a taxi instead--and the apartment was left oddly quiet, as it always was on the weekends. But this was one of those times when it was different. There was something in the air--something sensual.

Not ten minutes after their daughter had left, Peter was on Wade. “You fucking asshole,” he snarled through hungry kisses, “you can’t even fathom how awful it is to try to study calculus with a boner.”

“I gave you a bon--Jesus!” Wade started as Peter pushed him up against the wall of their bedroom and crawled on top of him, pinning his arms above his head with one hand. “Wall sex? We haven’t done this in awhile,” he said excitedly.

Peter captured Wade’s lips in his own and ground his hips down into the scarred man’s pelvis. Wade gasped and Peter leaned back, eyes sparkling evilly. “Oh, by the way, baby...”

“Yes?” Wade asked warily, eyeing his lover.

“Don’t forget who the daddy is here.”

[Holy fucking shit!]

{What were we saying about no freaky kinks?}

“I’m bigger,” Wade teased, “and older.”

Peter flipped them around so his back was pressed against the wall. “Wade.”

“Peter?”

“Take off your clothes.”

That was one of Wade’s favorite sentences, for when Peter ordered him to undress he didn’t just want him to undress. He wanted him to _strip_ while he watched hungrily, murmuring filthy things as Wade coaxed off his clothes. 

And so he obeyed, pulling away from the smaller man who remained glued to the wall, suspended a few feet from the floor. Off went the grey t-shirt, twirling a few times over Wade’s bald head before being chucked over his shoulder. Peter’s hungry eyes raking over Wade’s abdomen didn’t go unnoticed--Wade discreetly moved so that his stomach flexed in a way that always made Peter’s mouth water. He did a little twirl, twerking, and his lover laughed breathlessly. 

Years ago, Wade would never be able to do something like this. Before Peter, he was a disgusting monster. He was just an object to be used--a slab of meat--and that was perfectly okay with him. And then Peter came, young and gorgeous and sexy, and worshipped Wade’s body like it was a god’s, not a demon’s. Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Wade learned to accept his appearance. He still didn’t like it, not one bit, but he could look at himself in a mirror and not want to jab his eyes out. Besides, Peter thought he was the sexiest beast to walk the planet. Who was he to argue?

Wade popped open the button to his jeans and then, with a heavy-lidded glance at Peter, tugged the zipper down. The younger’s labored breathing was enough to make Wade harden. After subconsciously high-fiving himself for wearing his black lace thong (Peter’s favorite) and not his pink polka-dotted one (definitely not Peter’s favorite), Wade wiggled out of his pants. 

A weak gasp squeaked forth from Peter’s throat and Wade smirked at him. “If you fall off the wall I'm never going to let it go.”

“I'm aware,” Peter said, trying for sarcasm but ending up with a moan. He hopped down and crossed to Wade, curling his arms around to finger the lace over his butt. “Looking good, sweetheart.”

“Only the best for you,” Wade mumbled, running his hands up and down the younger’s waist. 

Peter grinned against him and pinned him by his hips against the wall. Wade chuckled, low and throaty, and tilted his pelvis forward to bump against Peter’s. “Ah,” Peter scolded, leaning back, “you're still in trouble.”

“Did you seriously make me get naked only to say you're not going to fuck me into oblivion?” Wade rose his nonexistent eyebrows. “That's low.”

“I never said that,” Peter shook his head, brown hair falling forward. 

“Then what are you saying?”

Sighing, Peter crawled up Wade’s front. “I'm saying,” he grumbled, undoing his belt, “that you need to make me forget I'm mad at you.”

With that, he took Wade’s head in one hand and pulled it forward to meet his freed member. Unprepared, Wade gagged when it hit the back of his throat and Peter released his grip to let him move freely. Wade licked around the head of Peter’s member, humming greedily at the clean, fresh taste of his skin.

Peter groaned and Wade felt his thighs tense around his head. It was times like these when Wade had to send a shout out to the spider that had bitten his baby boy--after all, he wouldn’t be pinned against the wall with Peter clinging to it six feet from the ground with his dick in his mouth if it hadn’t. Peter drove his hips forward and Wade’s head slammed against the wall with a resounding crack. He blinked, stars dancing in front of his eyes, before his skull quickly healed and he was back at it, bobbing and moaning. 

Wade tapped Peter’s hip and pulled his mouth, swollen and aching, off of his member with a loud pop. “Can I come up?”

With a nod, Peter curled an arm around the scarred man’s waist and hoisted him up. Wade habitually hooked his legs around the younger’s torso and then cried out when Peter suddenly thrust upwards, driving his hardness, still wet with Wade’s saliva, into Wade’s heat. “You're lucky I--Jesus fuck,” Wade panted, groaning as Peter snapped his hips into him. “You're lucky I'm stretched.”

“Of course you are,” Peter moaned, biting down on the sweet spot on Wade’s throat, “we've had sex--God, you're so beautiful--at least twice a week for the past eight and a--fuck--half years.”

“And yet it hasn't gotten old,” Wade whimpered.

“Not in the slightest,” Peter agreed, mewling.

Wade banged his head on the wall; a normal person would definitely have a concussion by now, but the pain went unnoticed by him. Peter was balls deep up his ass, ramming his prostate mercilessly, so there was no way he was going to complain about anything.

Peter forgave Wade at the same time he shot his load into his ass, filling him up. He then slowly lowered himself to the floor and collapsed against Wade’s chest, throwing his arms around his neck. “I love you,” Peter sighed. “Even when you're being a little shit.”

“No part of me is little, baby boy,” Wade teased.

That was the last night they were together. 

~763 Days After~

Eleanor was wearing a suit jacket Tony Stark probably bought her with her hair tucked into a neat ponytail when she walked into the apartment. Deadpool wracked his brain for a reason, but couldn’t find one. Eventually she reminded him, her voice exasperated. “I had that conference today, Dad. Remember?”

Obviously not. 

Apparently, she had spoken to a group of psychoanalysts and neuroscientists and whatever on the effects of multiple voices plaguing a brain.

[We’re famous!]

{I knew we’d make it.}

Deadpool was able to form a proper response. “How’d it go?”

She plopped down on the couch next to him. “I think most of them only cared about how old I was. No one was really taking notes.”

“Do I need to un-alive them?” Deadpool asked.

“Again with the murder,” Peter sighed. “Must you always resort to that? There are easier ways to stop thinking about me. Suicide, for example, seems to work rather well.”

Bristling, Deadpool struggled to hear Eleanor’s retort over the waves of laughter in his brain.

[Here we go again.]

{It’s a like a constantly-rewinding movie with these two.}

“Dad?” 

“Answer our daughter, Wade,” Peter ordered.

Deadpool clawed at the sides of his head. “It’s kinda hard,” he spat, “when you won’t leave me alone!”

“Dad!” Eleanor shouted over the chaos in his head.

“Yeah?” Deadpool asked, shaking.

“He’s not real,” she said, reaching out to pull her dad’s hands away from his head. There was blood under his nails.

“What are you talking about, Ellie-belly?” Deadpool asked warily.

“She’s not stupid, Wade,” Peter hissed. “She knows you’re insane.”

Eleanor rested her hand on his arm. “Dad, I know you lied to me last weekend.”

“About what, exactly?”

“You see Papa,” Eleanor sighed. Her dark eyes traveled over his face, searching. “And you hear him.”

Deadpool twitched, scratching his neck. “Yeah? I mean, uh, yeah.”

She frowned. “Have you visited his grave?”

“Once,” Deadpool admitted.

“The funeral doesn’t count.”

Deadpool worked his jaw. “Then never, I guess.”

Cemeteries weren’t his thing, anyway. The headstones romanticized death and the graves made it far too real. 

“You should visit him,” Eleanor insisted.

“That’s not him,” Deadpool snapped. “He’s here in my head, and he tortures me. Isn’t that enough? Can’t I live with him hurting me and be done with it?”

“No,” Eleanor shook her head. “I won’t let you. Dad, you’ve left. I’ve grown up and you weren’t there. You’re still not there, can’t you see that? I want my dad back.”

Deadpool glared at her. “I’m not going to his…” he heaved a sigh, “I’m not going.”

“Please,” Eleanor begged. “Please, just try. If it doesn’t work, you can say I told you so and never go back to the cemetery again.” Deadpool worked his jaw thoughtfully and she said hopefully, “Deal?”

“No,” her dad said. “But...I’ll agree to thinking about it.”

Ellie smiled sadly. “How can you think with all that noise going on up there?”

Deadpool could only stare at her.

~During~

“Peter?” Wade begged, cradling his limp head in his lap. “Baby boy, don’t do this. I didn’t mean it, I promise. Just get up and we can go home.”

The buildings were caving in around them in the New York twilight. Clouds had formed overhead and were starting to rumble with unshed rain. The darkness of the alley was suffocating, a creature that had reared up and clamped its clawed hands around Wade’s throat. Which made sense, considering this was a nightmare. For nothing like this could happen in real life. It was just one of Wade’s insane dreams. Soon, the real Peter would shake him awake and they’d cuddle until Wade fell back asleep. 

But Wade hadn’t had a nightmare in years. Peter had soothed them all away with gentle back rubs and kisses peppered across marred skin. So why was he having one now? Was it a flare up of his schizophrenia? Was that a thing that actually happened?

“Peter?” Wade choked. His eyes burned.

Red. So much red. All over Peter, all over Wade. Coppery red that scorched Wade’s nose.

This nightmare was going on far too long. It was time for Peter to wake him up. Why he hadn’t done it yet, Wade didn’t know.

“Peter, please open your eyes.”

The brunette didn’t obey.

His lips were blue and purple. His skin was turning ashen. 

“Petey?”

His breaths were gurgly and ragged, as if his lungs were filled with water. Or blood.

“Baby boy?”

It began to rain. 

~167 Days After~

“I want to move back in with Mrs. Preston.”

Wade’s eyes slowly focused on Ellie’s face. “What?”

“I can’t stay here,” she continued uncomfortably. “I would like to visit you on the weekends. You could work more that way.”

Wade turned back to the dying houseplant he’d been staring at. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

He shrugged.

“You don’t get to do that, Dad. Papa wouldn’t let you.”

“Papa’s not here right now.”

“Yeah, he’s dead,” Ellie snapped. “You’re not. Start acting like it.”

“You’re very disrespectful today,” Wade mused.

“Disrespectful?” Ellie scoffed, “You wanna know what’s disrespectful? You’ve just sat around for the past five months. Papa’s dead, Dad, and he’s not coming back, but that doesn’t mean you get to forget he existed.”

Wade’s brain was buzzing in a way that he’d never felt before. “I know.”

“Do you?” his daughter snapped. “Prove it. Get up and wash the dishes, cook chimichangas, do something, dammit!”

“Language,” Wade murmured habitually.

“Papa’s not around to ground me,” Ellie pointed out cruelly.

“I am.”

“You’re hardly a dad anymore, I’m not too worried about getting in trouble.”

The house was dirtier than it had ever been. Peter always made sure the cleaned on the weekends, and then when he became a billionaire he hired an old blind lady to do it (which doesn’t seem like it’d be a good idea, but she did well). What was her name? Al? Who cared anymore. Wade had been her friend when she worked for them. He’d invite her over for dinner and she’d tease him and Peter throughout the night like a feisty grandma. But she retired shortly after Peter...left...and Wade never invited her over again. He never invited anyone over again, for that matter.

“Then go,” Wade whispered. “Go live with Preston if that’s what would make you happy. I want you to be happy.”

Ellie sighed, “And I want you to be happy, Dad, but I can’t take this anymore. It’s like a constant reminder that Papa’s not here. I miss him too, you know?”

Wade stared at her. A familiar giggle echoed in his mind, but it was so soft that Wade could hardly hear it. But he did, and it sent a shot of ice through his chest. 

Peter?

The laughter grew louder until it drowned out all other noise. When it finally subsided, Ellie had left the room.

~765 Days After~

“Where did you say we're going again?” Deadpool asked.

“The park,” Eleanor responded, her eyes fixed out the window. “I need to go for a walk, we both do.”

It had taken a promise of chimichangas and never having to leave the house again to get Deadpool to go out with his daughter. Even then, she had to call a cab to pick them up and then had to drag him out. And he insisted on wearing his mask. 

The cab driving past Central Park did not go unnoticed by Deadpool. He glared suspiciously at Eleanor, “Where are we really going?”

She refused to meet his stare. “The park. Just not this one.”

He didn't really believe her, but he also didn't want to admit she was a liar. So he sat silently, trying not to acknowledge what he already knew. 

Peter wasn't buried in a huge cemetery like the celebrity Spider-man was. His identity remained a secret, even after it didn't matter anymore. He was buried near May’s house, in a small cemetery where his Uncle Ben was. It was ten minutes from the outskirts of the city. It was nowhere near a park.

Father and daughter sat so long in the back seat of the cab after it stopped that the driver started to give them dirty looks in the rear view mirror. “Listen, guys, this is gonna cost you more the longer we sit here.”

“We’ll be getting out,” Eleanor said distractedly.

“She will,” Deadpool grumbled. “I'll be going home.”

“Dad,” Eleanor murmured, reaching to rest her hand on his arm.

“Let go of me, Eleanor,” he snapped. “Why would you bring me here? Do you want me to suffer? Is it funny to you? Is this some sick joke? Well here's the punchline, Ellie-belly, I'm not doing this.”

“You are,” Eleanor crossed her arms indignantly over her chest. “You need to.”

“I need to?” Deadpool spat, “Or do you need me to?”

“Would that be so wrong?” Eleanor cried. “Why can't you just be my dad again and do this?!”

They stared at each other, breathing fast, and the cab driver shifted uncomfortably. He was the stereotypically Brooklyn kind of guy, with an intense Jersey accent and a newsboy cap. “Look, guys, I don't know what's going on here, some kind of family Genesis or something,” he twitched nervously, “but I really need you to figure out what you're doing.”

“We're staying,” Eleanor said.

“We're leaving,” Deadpool snarled. 

“Well I'm not sure which one of you I'm supposed to listen to,” the driver muttered.

The driver gasped as Deadpool robotically pulled out his pistol, cocked it, and and pointed it at his head. “Listen to me,” he growled. “I'm the one with the gun.”

Eleanor sighed as the driver put the taxi in drive, whimpering. “Dad, this isn't necessary. What are you so afraid of?”

“I'm not afraid,” Deadpool snapped. “I'm a grown man who is still your father, and if I don't want to do something you don't get to make me.”

Peter sat between them all the way back to their apartment, his arm resting around Eleanor’s shoulders. “She just wants to help you, honey. Stop being a psychotic idiot and let her.”

~4 Hours Before~

The build up to the fight had begun years ago. Ever since Peter’s company boomed and he became best buds with Tony Stark, inevitably turning into a stuck-up billionaire just like him. Peter had become Mr. Parker, CEO of Parker Industries, and had yet to figure out how to revert back to Plain Old Peter when he got home. Meanwhile, though Wade still took his occasional job and would leave to go be a mercenary, he found himself becoming more and more lonely. It had started to seem like he was back to just being a mercenary, not a real person. 

He had never said anything about it, but Peter eventually noticed something was wrong. Only, when he asked and Wade answered, he couldn't seem to take the situation seriously.

“Wade,” Peter sighed, straightening his tie, “you're being ridiculous. I need to get to that party.”

“You’re the one who asked,” Wade grumbled.

“Yeah,” Peter responded distractedly.

“Peter,” Wade rested his scarred hand on his sleeve. Like a child. “Can we talk?”

“Can it wait until I come home? It won't take long, I promise.” 

Wade hesitated, giving Peter enough time to brush off his hand and move toward the door. “Peter,” he finally managed. “This is important.”

Sighing, Peter turned back to him. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“I feel like--” God, now that he had the chance to get everything off his chest, his brain decided to turn off. “I feel like you've turned into a business man.”

Peter smiled gently, “That's what I am, Wade.”

“But it's not,” he continued, rubbing his head stressfully. “You're Peter Parker, and though the business side is part of you, it's not all of you. And you've been acting like you're one hundred percent CEO Parker, one hundred percent of the time.”

Peter stared at him for a long moment. Just as Wade was considering taking it back, he whispered, “So what are you saying?”

Wade squirmed under his scrutiny. “I don't know…”

“I think you do,” Peter cut him off. “If you put so much thought into it, let's hear it.”

“I just wish you'd spend more time here with me--” Wade rubbed his face. He sounded pathetic. “Nevermind, this sounded better in my head.”

Peter didn't respond for a bit. Then, slowly, he began to undo his tie. Wade furrowed his imaginary eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

“Spending time,” Peter pulled off his jacket, “with my husband.”

“I didn't mean you had to do it now,” Wade rushed to say. “I know this is important--”

“Nothing is as important,” Peter said over him, crossing to rest his hand on Wade’s waist, “as what we have right here.”

Wade was still wary. “Are you sure?”

Just then, Peter's phone rang. Grimacing, he set it down on the table. “Yeah,” he said slowly, “I'm sure.”

Wade couldn't help the thrill of excitement that went through his chest. “Star Wars marathon?”

Peter forced a grin. “Yeah, let me just get changed first.” 

[I have a bad feeling about this.]

{Would you shut up? What if you say a spoiler?}

[This is a fan fiction, not an actual novel.]

{Yeah, good point.}

Peter came back to the living room ten minutes later in an obscenely-tight white t-shirt and dark sweatpants that hung low on his hips. 

[I feel like we've heard this before…]

{I'm going to stab you in the eye if you don't shut up!}

Wade grinned up at him, “Hey, baby boy.”

Peter smiled gently back, “Ready to get started?”

“Do you mind if we skip the first three? They're the worst.”

“I thought you wanted a marathon.”

Cue Peter's phone’s ringtone, blaring into the romantic air that had begun to settle. The brunette fidgeted, eyeing it. 

Wade groaned, “Seriously?”

Peter settled back down after a brief--but noticed--pause. “It can wait. This night is for us.”

So they curled into each other--ironically enough, Wade had turned out to be the little spoon in their relationship--and turned up the volume on the TV. It was Sunday, so they had the house to themselves.

Not half way into the first episode and Peter’s phone rang again. Heaving a sigh, he threw all his attention into the movie. Wade couldn't help noticing his growing lack of interest, though. “Why don't you just put it on silent?”

Peter shrugged sheepishly, refusing to meet his eyes. “There might be a problem. If there is, they'll leave a message.”

“So why don't you turn your sound off?” Wade insisted.

“Jesus, Wade, because I'm a grown man who is running a multi-billion-dollar company, that's why. Can't you grow up and realize it's not just about us anymore?”

“It's not about us at all anymore,” Wade spat. “I've been taking jobs lately where I'm gone for weeks instead of days. Ellie was the first one to say something, not you. You're my husband, the father of our child, it's your job to--”

“To what?” Peter asked, eyes flashing, “To babysit you? In case you've forgotten, you're a grown man too.”

“You never used to be like this,” Wade grumbled. “It's be so much nicer if we were still living in a dingy apartment and you were following me around like a toddler, not knowing what to do because you couldn't do anything before me, Peter!” Wade was shouting now, hardly comprehending what was coming out of his mouth. “You were just a nobody photographer who was only famous for kissing your boss’s ass. You only had Spider-man to make you worth anything and now you've practically given him up too! I get it, you're growing up while I'm stuck in time right here, but that doesn't mean you get to forget me! I made you, Peter, so fucking grow up yourself and deal with the fact that you would be nothing if it weren't for me, if it weren't for me paying for your business’s startup and always cheering you on and stepping aside because I knew you wanted to be an Avenger, even though that was my dream before it was yours, and you gave it up the second you saw a couple zeros on your paycheck like it was nothing! You would still be nobody Peter Parker without me and you can't handle that, can you? That's why you've been pushing me away, it's because you can't stand the fact that you wouldn't have gotten here without me!”

By the time Wade was finished, Peter had sat up, stiff as a board, and he had somehow gotten to his feet.

All was silent except for the TV emitting the corny _pew pew_ sounds of Star Wars and Wade’s heavy breathing. Peter wasn't making a sound. If Wade was in his right mind, that would have worried him. 

Suddenly, Peter stood up and turned toward the door. Wade snarled, “Oh, off to that very important party? You know, the one that's so much more important than the man you swore to love for the rest of your life?!”

Peter didn't turn back to him, but threw quietly over his shoulder, “You're not being fair, and I won't stay here to listen to it.”

“I'm not being fair?!” Wade snapped indignantly. “You're the one who's leaving, who's taking a relationship that's going on ten years and throwing it away just so you can be rich-prick Parker, wannabe Tony Stark.”

Peter didn't respond, only grabbed his phone off the table and left. The door slammed behind him, shaking Wade to his bones.

[Well that was intense.]

{I think the big guy went a bit too far.}

Wade growled, dragging his hands down his face, and grabbed his jacket. “I hear you guys, I'm going.”

By the time he got outside, Peter was disappearing around the corner. Wade flipped his hood up and jogged after him, refraining from calling his name. Peter was much faster than he was, and if he was going to catch him, it's have to be stealthy.

A crack of thunder echoed overhead and Wade pushed himself faster.

Peter was standing in an alley leaning against a brick wall when Wade finally caught up to him. He didn't move, not even to acknowledge his presence. After catching his breath, Wade said, “I’m s--”

And then, his entire world shattered with the explosion of a gunshot.

Like a cheesy slow motion romance scene without the cheese or the romance, Peter’s eyes widened and he looked down at his chest. There was a large splotch of red that was only growing bigger as the seconds dragged on forming there, right on his sternum. Wade froze, unable to comprehend how to move his limbs, as his baby boy fell to his knees and then tipped forward. 

And suddenly he was moving, racing to his lover’s side and shakily turning him over.

“Peter?” Wade begged, cradling his limp head in his lap. “Baby boy, don’t do this.” They were supposed to be together. Peter was going to grow old and Wade was going to find a way to make him live forever by his side if he was alright with that. And then he ruined everything by running his stupid mouth. “I didn’t mean it, I promise. Just get up and we can go home.”

Peter’s beautiful hazel eyes reflected Wade’s in a way they never had before, as if they were made of glass. After a short moment, they fluttered shut. 

“Peter?” Wade choked. “Peter, please open your eyes.”

The brunette exhaled a soft puff of vaporized breath into the chilly night air. 

“Petey?”

The younger man didn't inhale.

“Baby boy?”

Rain, cold and unrelenting, began to pellet Wade’s back like bullets.


	3. Remembering Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is dead. He’s been dead for two years. But he’s still with Wade. He haunts him every second of the day. Wade turns around and there he is, watching him through his dingy apartment window. His voice has been added to the cacophony of Wade’s mind. And Ellie is growing up alone.
> 
> [Yellow box]  
> {White box}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long, guys! I would totally hate me right now if I were you, but please don't! This is the final chapter...what a wild ride! For those of you who have left such kind comments, thank you! I hope this last chapter is as good as you hoped it'd be.

~3187 Days Before~

“Wade,” Peter laughed, “she's going to love you.”

“Says you,” Wade sighed. “What if she sees me and instantly vomits?”

She would. Everyone did. Well, except Peter, but he had Wade convinced he was crazy. First he proclaimed his love for him, then a month later he wanted to introduce him to Aunt May. There must be some medical term that described that amount of mental instability.

It was really too late for them to be having this conversation anyway, considering they were only two blocks from the woman's house. The cab driver was pretending not to listen in on them, but Wade could tell he was enjoying the drama he was eavesdropping on. Wade pressed himself deeper into the stained cushion of his seat and pursed his cracked lips. Peter reached over and rested his hand on his thigh. Wade gasped at the contact and Peter cooed, “You're beautiful, Wade. My aunt will adore you.”

“How do you know that?” Wade insisted.

Peter grinned, “Because _I_ adore you.”

The cab driver snorted, but before Wade could tear his head off he said in a gravelly voice, “Here's your stop, boys.”

Peter turned back to Wade and reassured him, “She'll love you.”

“Right,” Wade clenched his teeth. “Let's get this over with.”

The walk up to May’s door was excruciatingly long. Each footfall seemed to turn the ground to quicksand, slowing Wade down with every step. Peter took his hand and squeezed it, warily watching the scarred man out of the corner of his eye. It was all Wade could do to not start hyperventilating.

“You've killed how many people, yet meeting one old lady terrifies you?” Peter quirked an eyebrow, stopping and tugging Wade toward him. “Stop being silly.”

“I'm not being...that,” Wade grumbled. “But it's not just any old lady. It's your aunt, Petey, what happens if she hates me?”

“She won't,” Peter responded fiercely. “Now shut up and come on.”

He pushed himself onto his toes and pecked Wade's lips before dragging him the rest of the way to the door. May opened it before Peter could even knock. She was thin and wrinkled with a slight hunch, curly silver hair framing her face. A grin spread across her face and she pulled Peter into a hug. He said against her, “Hey, Aunt May, how are you?”

“Never better,” she responded, pulling away and turning to Wade. “And how are you, young man?”

It took a moment for Wade to figure out she was talking to him. “I'm...fine, thanks.”

May smiled warmly up at Peter, “Shy, this one.”

With that, she pulled Wade into a hug. He was so shocked that it took him a moment to figure out how to return it.

“Not normally,” Peter shook his head. “Aunt May, this is my boyfriend--”

“The one and only Wade Wilson,” she stepped back and laughed at Wade's surprised expression. “I'm too old for formalities, boy. Peter won't ever stop talking about you.”

“Right,” Peter said, his cheeks reddening. “Shall we?”

“I suppose,” May chuckled. “Come on in, Wade.”

She didn't seem disgusted by his face. What a good actor. Peter laced his slender fingers in Wade's as they walked inside, not even letting go to take off his shoes. May smiled when she noticed, something unreadable in her soft eyes. “Peter, dear,” she said suddenly, “could you go pick up some shredded cheese? I just realized, I forgot to get it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I just got here.”

“It'll take you two minutes,” she retorted. “Wade can stay here.”

Panic shot through Wade's veins. Peter glanced at him warily, “Is that alright with you?”

“It's fine,” Wade responded, gritting his teeth.

And so Peter left, kissing Wade's cheek as he went. May didn't let awkward silence overtake them, though, and instantly said, “Well, now that he's gone, I can show you his baby pictures!”

Wade’s brain short-circuited. “His… _what_?”

“He was such a cute kid.” May snorted, “I wonder what happened.”

So she grabbed a photo album out of a drawer and led Wade to the living room.

Peter returned ten minutes later and caught them laughing at a picture of him in a tub. Wade, not noticing him at first, asked, “He was afraid of the bath?”

“Yes!” May chortled. “He was fine with pools, but something about warm, soapy water freaked him out.”

“I can't believe you two,” Peter finally piped up, trying to frown at them. “Aunt May, you seriously sent me out for cheese just to embarrass me? You probably already have cheese here, don't you?”

Wade grinned, “Embarrass you? You were the cutest baby I've ever seen!”

“I like this one, Peter,” May patted Wade's shoulder. “You better keep him around.”

Wade squirmed under her hand, not used to such...friendly contact. Even when Peter wasn't there, May hadn't seemed sickened by his face. It was as if he was just a normal boy that Peter brought home.

“And don't be ridiculous,” May continued. “I really did need cheese.” She began to walk toward the kitchen, throwing over her shoulder to Wade, “Peter told me like chimichangas?”

Wade punched his fist in the air, grinning madly and shouting, “I love this woman!”

Peter groaned at the same time, “We literally ate chimichangas four hours ago.”

“Exactly!” Wade jumped to his feet, scattering pictures across the floor, and slung an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “My chimichanga meter says I'm running low.”

Peter stuck out his tongue and poked Wade’s marred cheek with it, leaving a wet streak across his skin. “You're a dork.”

Wade rubbed his cheek off on his shoulder. “Did you seriously just lick me?”

They sat down at the table and May set plates in front of them. Wade instantly dug into his food, complimenting May on her cooking as he ate, and Peter rested his hand on his thigh, trailing his fingers up and down his jean-clad skin. Wade bumped him with his knee warily, feeling the familiar heat begin to seep into his stomach.

[Mayday, mayday!]

{If Petey’s not careful we're gonna have a whole new problem on our hands.}

Peter quirked his lips up and brushed his hand excruciatingly close to Wade’s crotch before pulling it away and grabbing his fork. “These look good, Aunt May.”

[That little shit head!]

Wade shifted in his chair, awkwardly trying to relieve some of the pressure forming in his pants.

May brushed her hands off. “What would you boys like to drink?”

“Water,” Peter said.

“And you, Wade?” She asked.

“Same,” he squeaked. Once May was back in the kitchen, he hissed, “Are you fucking kidding me? What was that for?”

Peter smirked, “That’s what you get for laughing at my old, very serious phobia of baths.”

“I hope you realize you just messed up my first meeting with my future aunt-in-law!” Wade pouted.

That sentence worked to send a streak of red shooting through Peter’s face. “Y--you’re a grown man who can take care of himself.”

But joke was on him, for he was the one squirming until they left for his apartment.

~772 Days After~

“I visited Aunt May this week,” Eleanor said, poking at her ramen.

Deadpool couldn't formulate a proper response, so he grunted wordlessly and took a swig of his beer.

“She's doing well,” Eleanor continued. “She asked about you.”

“What did you say?”

Eleanor worked her jaw. “I said you're struggling. She wanted you to know that her door is always open.”

Deadpool hadn't talked to May since the funeral. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen her face. He didn't know what he was scared of, or if he was scared at all. All he knew was that he couldn't do it, not yet, not ever. He couldn't face Peter's caretaker. She would see into his soul just like she always did and she'd know how broken he was without even talking to him. And then the pity would come on in waves, and Deadpool wouldn't be able to stop himself from blasting his brains out.

As if reading his thoughts, Eleanor said, “You should visit her. She'd love to see you.”

“I can't, Ellie-belly,” Deadpool responded dryly.

“Why not?” She asked, exasperated.

“I--” he frowned, “I just can't.”

“But why?”

If only she knew. If only he could tell her. But she could never know. If he saw May, he'd see Peter as he was that night, and remember how he'd yelled at him before he left. And how before he could even apologize, someone shot his baby boy and sent him somewhere Deadpool could never follow.

Deadpool had spent the next month after the funeral hunting down and slaughtering anyone who had anything to do with Peter's death. No one was spared from his wrath as he cut down crime boss after crime boss, blinking burning tears out of his eyes as he went. Peter had made plenty of enemies with his business, but he'd always say it was nothing to worry about. So Wade tried not to let it bother him. Now Peter was gone because of that decision.

Deadpool couldn't face May. If he did, he'd be reminded it was his fault Peter was dead.

[Even though the new one constantly reminds him.]

“It doesn’t matter, baby,” Deadpool mumbled.

“It does, Dad,” Eleanor sighed, running her hands through her wild dark hair. “So why?”

Red flashed in front of Deadpool’s vision. Why? Why did it matter? Why did she care? Couldn’t she just let him survive in a constant state of self-loathing in peace?

He didn’t realize he’d said his thoughts out loud until Eleanor lay her hand on his arm. “Dad,” she coaxed, forcing him to look at her before she continued. “Let me help you.”

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was insane, and she was his child. He needed to protect her.

“You really think you can protect anyone?” Peter’s voice trickled into his ears. “You’re so pathetic.”

Deadpool shuddered. “I’m sorry, Ellie. You deserve so much more than me.”

“Dad, stop,” she ordered, capturing his marred face in her hands. “Is Peter in there? Is he talking to you?”

He couldn’t find it in himself to lie, so he nodded miserably. She sighed and gently knocked her knuckles against his forehead, “Hey, Peter, leave my dad alone. You’re not my Papa.” She leveled her brown eyes with her dad’s. “He’s not Papa. He’s not.”

“Okay,” Deadpool murmured.

Her grip on his face tightened. “No. Look at me and repeat it. He’s not Peter. He’s not your husband, he’s not my father. He’s just your guilt, guilt that you shouldn’t even have. It’s not your fault, Dad. No one thinks it is but you.”

A sob choked Deadpool’s throat, surprising them both. “I can’t,” he cried, pulling out of his daughter’s hands. “I can’t say it because it’s not true! It _is_ my fault, Eleanor! Why can’t you blame me and hate me? It’d make it so much easier! Stop trying to fix me!”

And suddenly her arms were around him, surrounding him like a blanket, and she was pressing his head into her shoulder and sniffling. “Why do you think it’s your fault?”

Just like that, out came the secret that Deadpool had held bottled up inside for two years.

“We had an argument. I--I said things. All lies,” he sucked in a shaky breath. “If I hadn’t made him leave, he’d still be alive. If I’d have gotten to him sooner, or if I had paid better attention, he’d be alive!”

“Daddy,” Eleanor cooed, pulling him to sit on the couch, “Papa wouldn’t blame you.”

“I yelled at him,” Deadpool insisted. “He died thinking I didn’t love him.”

“You really think he was that stupid?” Eleanor snapped. “He knew you loved him. I know he did because he was the smartest man alive, and he loved you so much, Dad. It was kind of gross how in love you two were.”

{It really was.}

[But the sex was worth it!]

Deadpool shook his head stubbornly. “I broke his heart. And then he left and died.”

“He might have been upset,” Eleanor nodded. “But his heart wasn’t broken. I can guarantee that he was going to go home with you and you were gonna cuddle and make it all better. Dad,” she crouched down in front of him, taking one of his hands, “it’s not your fault. Don’t let the voices in your head tell you it is. Papa wouldn’t like this new version of him that you’ve made to punish yourself.”

“She’s lying,” Peter insisted, but his voice was muffled.

“She’s not,” Deadpool whispered, hardly more than a breath.

And with that, he did something he couldn’t remember doing in years--decades.

He bent forward and broke down, all the emotions trapped in his brain for years exploding forth in an instant, letting his daughter rub circles in his back as he sobbed.

~2671 Days Before~

Ellie skipped in front of her parents up to May’s door, laughing as she went. Wade grinned at Peter, “This was your idea, remember.”

The younger pressed a quick kiss to the older’s lips before shrugging, “I’m excited, and so’s Aunt May.”

The door opened and the old woman stepped out, a smile stretched across her papery face. “Hello, boys!” She then looked down at the little girl in front of her, “And you must be Ellie.”

“Hell yes I am!” Ellie squealed.

“Ellie! Language, little girl!” Peter snapped, but he was smiling despite himself.

May bent down to give the child a hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you. Papa told me so much about you. Such a smart girl, you are!”

“I know!”

“Manners,” Wade reminded her, running a hand through her hair.

Ellie squirmed away from his fingers, “Thank you, ma’am.”

May chuckled, “‘Aunt May’ will do, dear.”

With that, Ellie darted into the house. “Papa, help me with my shoes!” As an afterthought, she added, “Please!”

Peter bent down and untied her shoes for her. “I’m getting too old for this.”

“If anyone’s too old for that it’s me,” Wade teased, nodding for Ellie to go inside.

May rolled her eyes, “Come on, you two, lunch is ready.”

“What’s on the menu?” Wade asked.

She raised her eyebrows and Peter groaned, “I swear to god, Aunt May, if you--”

“Chimichangas, of course,” she interrupted.

Before Peter could respond, she turned and sashayed away into the house. Wade shot his boyfriend a cheeky grin and kicked off his shoes. “I promise, no more Mexican food for the rest of the week.”

“It’s Saturday, Wade,” Peter said miserably.

“Exactly! You get a break tonight! No need to thank me,” the scarred man giggled. Suddenly, he felt a sting on his asscheek. “Whoa! Did you just pinch my ass? Naughty boy,” he scolded.

Peter retracted his hand, smirking. “Just get inside.”

Wade’s mouth stretched into a grin. “Or what? You gonna spank me?”

That’s exactly what Peter did. Point made, he pushed around his boyfriend and made his way down the hall, throwing over his shoulder, “Yes.”

“Daddy, Papa!” Ellie met them at the entrance to the dining room, “Hurry up! It smells _so_ good!”

“That’s because, Ellie-belly,” Wade said, pulling out May’s chair, “it _is_ so good.”

Once they all had sat down and started eating, Wade couldn’t help but feel he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to wake up, roll over, and find his baby boy blinking sleepily at him. He didn’t deserve to see his daughter on the weekends and actually take her to his home because it was in good enough shape for a child. He didn’t deserve a family. He didn’t deserve Peter’ love. He didn’t deserve--

“Ladies, please excuse Daddy and I for a second,” Peter suddenly cut off Wade’s thoughts.

“Why?” Ellie asked.

Peter offered her a smile, “We’ll be back.”

With that, he pulled Wade out of his chair and dragged him down to the bathroom, locking the door behind them.

“What’s this about?” Wade asked warily.

Peter wasn’t listening. He started to pace back and forth in front of the mirror, running his hands through his hair. “I hate this.”

Wade hesitated. “Hate what, baby boy?”

“This!” Peter insisted, waving between them. “I can't figure out how to make you see how incredible you are!”

“What makes you think--”

“You had that look on your face, Wade,” Peter cut him off, stopping his pacing. “I know what that means. You deserve us, Wade. And we love you.” He stepped closer, eyelids heavy, “I love you.”

Wade paused before managing to squeak, “Thanks.”

[He’s a real charmer, ain't he?]

{Why did you suddenly turn southern American?}

[It worked for the situation.]

Peter heaved a mighty sigh and leaned back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes bore holes into Wade's, causing him to squirm uncomfortably. “What?” The scarred man finally grumbled.

“I don't get it,” Peter ran a hand through his hair, “but I'm trying to. It'll take me some time, but I promise I'll figure out your self-consciousness and then I'll find a way to get rid of it.”

“Why do you care?” Wade asked thoughtlessly.

Peter's hazel eyes hardened. “What do you mean, ‘why do I care?’”

Wade clawed at the back of his neck, scrambling for a coherent thought. His skin was always in pain, but having Peter stare at him like that was lighting his flesh on fire. “I don't know.”

Peter blinked at him, confusion reflecting across his face. “I care because I love you more than life, baby.”

“You don't mean that,” Wade insisted, anxiety grappling at his throat. “You don't.”

“Why--”

“You _can't_ mean that,” Wade continued, beginning to rub his hands against his scarred head. “Because you're gonna leave me some day. It might not be soon, but it'll happen.”

“Wade,” Peter suddenly grabbed his boyfriend’s face, forcing him to meet his eyes, “I love you. I'll never leave you.”

_What a fucking liar._

~774 Days After~

The clouds rolled lazily past the window of the plane, mesmerizing maybe to some but tiring to Deadpool. Even his pilot had noticed his mood was especially macabre, but luckily for his health he didn't mention it. The veteran had only asked where to and then instructed his boss to strap in.

Deadpool's employer had sent him to Taiwan, the perfect distance away to be after dumping his heart’s guts all over his daughter’s lap two days prior.

He had to admit though, it was nice to have a slight reprieve from Peter. The voice of his dead lover hadn't plagued him since his breakdown, though Deadpool was too stubborn to think too deeply on that fact. Because he didn't deserve to forget. He didn't have the right to stop his punishment.

[What a sad-sap.]

{A serious killjoy.}

[The worst.]

{You said it.}

Deadpool absently ran a gloved finger over the blade of the katana lying across his lap. Whether he'd need it or not, it was comforting to know his most basic weapon was always ready for service.

Within two hours the pilot announced they'd found their way in Taiwanese airspace and Deadpool straightened in his seat, the usual dull spark that was the result of being close to starting a mission igniting in his chest. He was supposed to be guarding a shipment in two hours, but that didn't mean he couldn't find something fun to do beforehand.

The pilot called for him to fasten his seatbelt and Deadpool forced himself to obey. Peter wouldn't want him to endanger himself, after all.

Deadpool froze.

[What the actual fuck?]

{Did the big guy just think something about he-who-must-not-be-named that _wasn't_ self-deprecating?}

[Stop the presses, I'm speechless!]

{Then shut up, would you?}

Shaking his head, Deadpool settled back into his seat and tried to calm the pounding in his chest.

~3189 Days Before~

The couch in their living room had grown a crease that fit Wade and Peter perfectly...if they were pretzelled around each other. Any other position would lead to pained necks and twisted backs, but they didn’t mind. They were in the part of their relationship where everything was perfect as long as they were together and making out.

Which was exactly what they were doing, tongues probing sloppily and teeth clashing together. Not the hottest make out session, but you couldn't convince their growing members of that. Wade gripped Peter’s waist, looming over him to rut his pelvis down into his.

“Wade,” Peter gasped, clinging to the back of the scarred man’s neck.

“Yeah, baby boy?” Wade pulled away just long enough to let those three words slip out before he pressed his lips against Peter's throat.

A groan escaped the younger man and he grabbed Wade's shoulders. “Wade, why do you hate yourself?”

Only half listening, Wade half-heartedly shrugged and began undoing the buttons in Peter's shirt. “I don't know,” he droned, “maybe because I'm a hideous beast who doesn't deserve love.”

Peter froze beneath him, but Wade was too far gone to notice. He bit down on the younger’s bottom lip, practically growling. It wasn't until Peter pushed him up with all his strength--almost sending him flying off the couch--that Wade noticed there was a problem. “What's that for?” He asked.

“I don't know how to show you how amazing you are,” Peter sighed, “but I have an idea.”

Wade hesitated, anxiety starting to replace the euphoria. “What do you mean?”

Peter stood and Wade noticed his hands were trembling as he reached out to take his wrist. “Come on.”

Wade obeyed mutely, letting his boyfriend drag him down the hall to the bedroom. Once inside, Peter shut the door behind them and flipped on the light by his bed. With that, he tugged off his shirt and tossed it to the side. Wade’s heart jumped, but he was still wary. “What are we going to do?”

“ _You_ ,” Peter said, hardly meeting Wade's eyes, “are going to tell me if it's okay for me to...to--uh, to, you know.”

“What?” Wade asked, eyes wide.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, his bicep flexing as he did so. “Jesus, Wade, can I fuck you?”

Oh.

[Bow chicka wow wow!]

{Sweet Jesus fucking a bible.}

[That’s sacrilegious.]

{Do you even know what that word means?}

[Of course I do!]

{Right.}

Wade swallowed before nodding weakly. “Yeah, you can,” he forced out. “I'd like that.”

Peter cracked his knuckles worriedly, “Yeah? Okay.”

With that, he gently unzipped Wade's hoodie and eased it off his shoulders, his breath hitching at the skin-tight wife beater beneath. Lip trembling, he murmured, “So pretty. My pretty boy.”

[He does realize the big guy is over ten years older than him in this flashback, right?]

{Shut up, this is gonna be the best fuck of our life!}

[How do you know?]

{It’s in the script.}

[Jesus Christ with the script again!]

“Hey,” Peter tapped Wade’s forehead, shaking him out of his reverie, “what’s going on up there?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what you’re doing,” Wade mumbled, wondering at the heat pooling in his stomach.

Peter blushed and looked like he was about to stop, but then he found his resolve and pulled Wade’s shirt up over his head. Sighing, he ran his hands up the planes of the scarred man’s stomach. “Such a pretty boy.”

And with an insistent twitch of his cock, Wade suddenly understood something. “I have a praise kink,” he said, awestruck.

Peter squirmed, “Yeah?”

“I mean, I think so,” Wade nodded, furrowing his nonexistent eyebrows. “I’m feeling pretty ready to get fucked right now.”

With a snort, Peter resumed undressing Wade. As he slowly pulled his boyfriend’s belt off, he cooed, “Beautiful. So beautiful, Wade.” Off with the pants. “I love you so, so much.” A kiss to his hip, and then goodbye, boxers. “You’re so good for me.” He cupped his hand around Wade’s exposed member, weighing his balls in his palm. “So incredible.”

He lowered himself onto his knees and pressed a rainbow of kisses to Wade's stomach before stooping his head and licking the inside of his thigh, threateningly close to his throbbing cock. “My darling...so good. Taste--so good.”

“Damnit, baby boy,” Wade gasped, “just fuck me already.”

Peter blushed, pushed himself to his feet, and backed Wade up to the bed, gently directing him down on the mattress. He tore off his clothes and Wade watched the articles fly over his porcelain shoulder and onto the floor. Gazing down at Wade with perfect hazel eyes and fidgeting his fingers, he mumbled sheepishly, “Should I stretch you?”

“Definitely,” Wade responded. “I haven’t done this in years.”

Peter hesitated for a long moment before daring to speak. “I don’t know how.”

And of course, Wade instantly burst out laughing. He doubled over, trying to calm down and only making it worse for himself. Peter crossed his arms over his chest, irritation flickering across his features. “Jesus Christ, Petey,” Wade finally gasped. “Let me show you.”

With that, he grabbed the lube from the nightstand drawer and squirted some on his palm. He held out his slick fingers and Peter gave him his hand warily. Wade winked at him, earning an eyeroll, and coated the younger’s fingers with lube. Once that was finished, he pulled Peter’s hand towards his crotch. “Are you okay with this?” he asked.

“Yeah,” the younger breathed.

Nodding, Wade coaxed Peter’s index finger into his hole. He clenched around the digit and forced himself not to hiss--the last thing he wanted to do was make Peter think he was hurting him. “Can you do it?”

Peter hesitated, his finger still inside Wade, “What if I don’t do it right? What if this isn’t good for you?”

“Peter,” Wade captured his boyfriend’s face in his hands, trying to ignore the pressure building in the tight ring of muscles around Peter's digit. “I have a finger belonging to the guy of my dreams shoved up my ass. There is no way in hell that this isn’t going to be good for me.”

Reassured, the younger man pushed in deeper and dared to add a second. “You’re incredible, Wade, what did I do to get you?”

Peter bent down to lick a stripe up Wade's member, coaxing forth a whimper.

“Made a deal with--shit--the devil probably,” Wade groaned.

The younger man kissed the tip of Wade's cock before sliding his moistened lips over it, coating him in warm heat. Wade gasped as Peter worked his fingers deep inside him, bobbing his head in time with his ministrations.

Just as Wade was ready to explode, Peter sucked his lips off his member with a pop. “Probably,” he agreed, gently scissoring his fingers deep inside Wade.

And damn, it felt so _good_. Wade was at a whole new angle where he could see Peter’s sweat glistening on his chest and the way his hair hung across his forehead. Suddenly, Peter bent down and sucked on the sweet spot of Wade’s neck and the scarred man hissed at the contact. “I’m ready.”

Peter nodded and pulled a condom out of the drawer and slipped it on. Once properly protected, he lined up at Wade’s entrance and bit his lip. “This is about you and making you feel good, Wade. If anything makes you uncomfortable in any way, tell me, okay? I know this isn’t what you’re used to.”

“Who cares what I want?” Wade grinned, too excited to fully grasp what he’d just said.

Peter curled his fingers around the back of Wade’s neck. “ _I_ do, and if tonight works then you eventually will too. Just promise me--”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wade grumbled. “I’ll tell you if you hurt my ass. Just get inside me already, fuck.”

With a sigh, Peter obeyed, lifting Wade’s legs to rest on his shoulders. He then gently pushed himself against Wade’s hole and then inside. Wade involuntarily clenched around him, gasping as Peter pushed deeper and deeper until his pelvis was flush with Wade’s ass. “Such a good boy,” Peter praised. “You’re doing so well.”

“Move, baby boy,” Wade begged.

Peter slowly pulled himself out to his tip and then drove his hips forward again. Wade cried out, gripping the sheets in his fists. “Good boy,” Peter groaned, “so tight, so...hot. Such a good--shit--pretty boy. So--beautiful. So lovable and...a--amazing.”

They began to find a rhythm and Peter dropped his head down onto Wade’s shoulder. Something was happening to the scarred man’s brain as Peter whispered to him. Something incredible--borderline magical. Not even his voices could ruin what was happening to him.

“I love you so much,” Peter sighed, “I love everything--about you.”

“Not everything,” Wade whispered.

Peter ignored his comment, rolling his hips into him adoringly, his eyes never leaving Wade's. Suddenly, he turned his head and peppered a trail of kisses from Wade's knee to his thigh. “I love your--humor. Shit, Wade, you’re so amazing. I love--your eyes.” He sunk his teeth into Wade’s shoulder before continuing, “I love your scars. You’re so beautiful. My beautiful good bo _oh my god_.”

Wade would have accused Peter of lying had he not seen his face as he spoke. His head lolled back, brown hair sticking to his forehead, and his mouth was in a perfect, blissed-out “o”. So instead of responding, he dropped his head down onto the mattress and moaned as Peter worshipped him.

An unbearable amount of heat flooded Wade’s stomach, but he tried to fend off the inevitable. This was incredible ([The writer made a rhyme!]). This was what romance novels were all about. This was, without a doubt, lovemaking.

~776 Days After~

“Hey, Ellie-belly. You don't need to worry, I'm just calling to say I won't be home this weekend. I should be back on Tuesday, though, so maybe we can, uh, get dinner? Or something. Yeah, right, okay, bye.”

Deadpool quickly hung up before he could continue blabbering into his daughter’s voicemail and dropped his phone on the dingy bed. The ad online for the hotel had it pegged for a nice place, but he should have listened to the one-star review. Motel was more like it, complete with bed bugs, moldy shower curtains, and moth-eaten towels and blankets. It wasn't anything worse than what he usually stayed in, but he seemed to be in a healthy mood lately. He even drank a bottle of water when he had finished unpacking his extra suits and underwear. Granted, it was lukewarm and tasted more like copper than H2O, but at least it was something. Eleanor would be proud.

Peter would be proud.

Deadpool shook his head, clearing his thoughts. The last thing he needed was to clog his brain with unnecessary clutter, especially when he was getting ready to leave for his mission. He wasn’t entirely sure what was in the shipment, but he had made it his policy to turn a blind eye to villainous behavior. What kind of merc would he be if he had a moral code? It was probably a crate full of drugs getting sent to America or Mexico.

With a shrug, Deadpool slung his ammo bag over his shoulder and double checked that his katanas were strapped to his back. Satisfied he was properly armed, he slipped out of the hotel window and into the dark alleyways of Kaohsiung City. The drop-off point was over two hundred and twenty miles away in Taipei and since the group was only traveling by night in a train of motorcycles and a semi truck, it'd take them at least three days if the threat of attack was as high as Deadpool had been lead to believe.

Not that he was too worried. It wasn't a difficult mission, it was just boring.

[Super boring.]

{No challenge involved.}

[This sucks.]

“You said it,” Deadpool mused, ducking behind a garbage bin as a black SUV slowly rolled past the alley. If there was one thing he knew, it was that black SUVs always belonged to the bad guy.

[Wait, aren't we the bad guy?]

{Naw, we'll be on a motorcycle, not in an SUV.}

[Yeah, but we're protecting a shipment of drugs.]

Deadpool ignored the voices in his head and checked his Adventure Time watch.

[Oh, so we're going with the Deadpool from the movie?]

{I mean, that _is_ the writer’s favorite movie and what made her fall in love with us in the first place.}

[Good point.]

Just as Deadpool was nearing the perimeter of the shipyard, a soft voice murmured, “What are you doing?”

Shit. “W--what are you doing here?” Deadpool gasped.

Peter giggled, “I live up here in your head, remember, honey?”

The familiar buzz was staring up in Deadpool's head. It turned into a never-ending flood, drowning out all other noise. When he managed to look up, he saw someone waving at him, but he couldn't seem to hear.

“Now,” Peter said sweetly, “answer my question.”

_He’s not Papa. He’s not._

Deadpool forced himself to square his shoulders and walk forward. “I'm working. After that, I’m gonna go home and have a nice ice cream dinner with my daughter.” _Without you_ , he added silently.

[Impressive?]

{It won’t last. He’s been too dependent on that guy for too long.}

[Such a pessimist.]

{“Realist.”}

[Whatever helps you sleep at night.]

“Could you two shut up?” Deadpool hissed.

When he made it to the group of cycles, a man clad in black leather straightened and said, “You must be Deadpool.”

“The one and only Merc with a Mouth, at your service,” Deadpool swooped into a low, sarcastic bow.

The man jerked his chin to an unoccupied bike. “Get on and hurry up. We're already late.”

“Of course we are,” Deadpool grinned maliciously. “You just don't want to hear my incredible jokes.”

The man didn't respond, only remounted his motorcycle. Deadpool sighed dramatically and hopped on his, testing the accelerator. The engine roared to life beneath him and he couldn't stop himself from breaking into a bout of insane laughter. “That's what I'm talking about!”

The semi groaned, the wheels creaking as it picked up speed. Deadpool had back up, so he waited until everyone else was ahead of him before snapping back his kickstand, darting after them.

It didn't take long for Deadpool to learn why they needed a world class mercenary as backup. Huge four-armed creatures appeared on the rooftops, their snarls loud enough to be heard over the engines. The train of vehicles stopped and the motorcyclists grabbed the rifles off their backs.

“The fuck?” Deadpool skidded his bike to a halt and whipped out a pistol, firing into a blobbish head.

The thing tipped as its head exploded around the bullet, but then it reeled forward and galloped towards Deadpool.

[We did _not_ sign up for this shit!]

Deadpool dove out of the way, ditching his bike to be mauled by the oozing black creature. “What exactly are you guys transporting?” He shouted, reloading his gun and taking aim.

“Confidential inf--” a man began before being cut off by a creature sinking its teeth around the upper half of his body, tearing him in half.

“Really?!” Deadpool snapped, somersaulting to slice the beast’s head off. Black goo splattered him in the face and he shuddered, taking a moment to cut the remainder of the carcass into quarters for good measure. “You guys are seriously still gonna keep that a secret with actual fucking monsters attacking us?”

No one responded to his complaint, they were too busy being severed or swallowed.

Deadpool whipped around just in time to get slashed across the face by dripping claws.

“Shit biscuits!” he shouted, slamming against a building so hard it cracked beneath him. With a groan, he rolled onto his hands and knees and slowly pushed himself up, white-hot fury flashing across his vision. “Alright then,” he said softly, cracking his neck. “Maximum effort.”

With a lurch, he leapt forward and spun his katana around to slice two creatures in half. Deadpool sighed and shouted, “Get the load out of here! I’ll hold them off!”

The leader of the group called orders and the remaining motorcyclists sped off with the semi truck. Deadpool watched them speed off through the blood streaming down his face. His wound was healing, but the stain would remain until he changed his mask.

[I’ve never felt so alive!]

{We do this at least once a week.}

[I know! It’s awesome!]

{Jesus Christ, I wish you could die.}

Suddenly, something slammed into his head. He flipped through the air and felt his spine snap and skull crack simultaneously. Trying to stand and finding himself unable to, he blinked blearily at the creature hovering over him. “ _Hey_ , gorgeous,” he said weakly.

“Get up, Wade.”

Brain still floating in a sea of blood and bone shards, Deadpool didn’t notice how wrong it was for Peter to be there. He didn’t feel a stab of panic drive through his chest as he relapsed. He didn’t feel it was necessary to roll into a ball and sob helplessly. He didn’t even consider the impossibility of ever getting rid of this cruel version of his baby boy. Instead, he grinned, “Hey, gorgeous!”

And then his skull and spine healed, the pressure on his brain lifted, and he screamed.

~2198 Days Before~

Wade rolled over and opened his eyes to a glorious sight. He whistled, low and long, at Peter, who was bent over stark naked to pick up his boxers. “I swear, baby boy, if you put anything on that bodacious booty right now, it better be me.”

Peter straightened, his glorious ass tightening, and laughed breathily. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Resting his chin on his fist, Wade snickered and raised his brows. Peter froze, glancing at him over his shoulder. “Wade Wilson, I swear to god--”

“ _Hey yeah, I wanna shoop baby!_ ”

Sighing, Peter shook his head. “Are you done?”

“Never,” Wade said seriously before continuing to sing. “ _You’re packed and you’re stacked, especially in the back! Brother, wanna thank your mother for a butt like that!_ ”

{I guess it had to happen eventually.}

[That’s pretty much the writer’s favorite lyric ever.]

{And, consequently, the big guy’s?}

[I guess? I thought you were the smart one.]

“ _Can I get some fries with that shake-sh--_ ”

“Wade, I’m gonna stick you to the wall if you don’t stop.”

“Will that scenario involve sexy morning wall sex?” Wade shot him a shit-eating grin.

Peter tried to glare at him, but the effect was lost in the grin cracking across his face. “You’ve been in rare form lately.”

“I can’t help it,” Wade pulled his boyfriend into his lap, nuzzling his neck. He smelled of sex and the remnants of yesterday’s cologne. “You’re incredible.”

“I like this version of you,” Peter hummed, twisting around to hook his arms around the scarred man’s neck. “You’re happy.”

“I’m always happy with you,” Wade mumbled, looking away from the intensity of Peter’s hazel eyes.

“I know,” Peter coaxed Wade’s chin up, forcing him to meet his gaze. “It’s just nice to wake up to this.”

Wade buried his face in Peter’s porcelain shoulder. “You’ve woken up to this for over two years.”

“Going on three,” Peter nodded.

Mustering up whatever courage (or stupidity, depending on how you look at it) he had in him, Wade mumbled, “Peter.”

Hearing his actual name, Peter bristled. “What’s wrong?”

“I--shit, uh, I was--” Wade gently lifted Peter off his lap and practically fell onto the floor. “Goddamnit!”

“Wade?!” Peter jumped to his feet, reaching for him.

The scarred man couldn’t help it. He burst into a fit of insane laughter, knocking his knuckles against his head. “How do you stand me, baby boy?”

“I love you,” Peter said incredulously, kneading his hands together worriedly. “That’s how.”

“I’m glad that’s your answer,” Wade forced himself to look up at his boyfriend. “You’re so perfect.”

“You’re kinda freaking me out,” Peter said, squirming.

“Sorry,” Wade cleared his throat. “So, you like waking up like this? With me?”

“Well, yeah,” Peter nodded. “What’s your point?”

“Uh,” Wade twitched nervously. “I was kinda wondering if you’d like to do it for a few more years.” This went so much better in his head. He worked his jaw, starting over. “That is, all of them.”

Unbearable silence fell over the room. A buzzing started in Wade’s skull and he felt a panic attack starting in his chest. “Look,” he said quickly, “nevermind. Forget I said anything. I’ll go make pancakes or something.”

Before he could stand up off the floor, though, Peter’s hand shot out and planted on his bare shoulder. He murmured, hardly looking at Wade as a blush crept up his neck, “What are you asking me?”

“Look, I know you’re only twenty-four and I’m, like, thirty-five times three lifetimes.” Wade sighed and reached to rummage in his nightstand drawer. “But I really, _really_ love you and though I have no idea how we’re going to make this work, I’ve never wanted to try at anything as much as I want to try at this.”

“Wade,” Peter breathed, caressing his cheek. “Sweetheart, what are you saying?”

“I know I’m not romantic and I’m gross and insane and as much as I try, I’ll never be worthy of you,” Wade continued as if Peter had never spoken. “But I hope you can look past that when I--when I ask--” he gulped and mumbled, “ _Maximum effort_.”

Then he forced himself to finish, “Peter Benjamin Parker, will you marry me?”

If the silence before was unbearable, this one was suffocating. Wade wished there was a pistol in his hand instead of a small black box so he could blast his brains out and get away from the unbelievable mess he’d just made. Peter would laugh at him and then leave him heartbroken for the next five thousand years.

[That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?]

{Probably.}

“I’m sorry,” Wade forced himself to say.

Peter slapped a hand over his scarred mouth and knelt to become eye-level with him. “Is there a ring in there?” He tipped his chin toward the box gripped in Wade’s hand.

The scarred man gave a jerky nod.

“Can I wear it now?” Peter asked coyly.

Wade’s brain short-circuited as Peter removed his hand from his mouth, allowing his jaw to fall open. “You--what? You mean--right?”

Peter giggled, “Yes, Wade, I mean ‘yes’.”

“Fuck yeah!” Wade jumped to his feet and pumped his fist in the air.

Grinning, Peter grabbed Wade’s arm and pulled him into an embrace. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What? Oh, yeah!” Wade pulled away and picked at the box’s lid. His shaking hands refused to cooperate, though, and he cursed himself. “I’m a mess, baby boy. Sorry.”

Suddenly, elegant soft hands enveloped his scarred ones. “Don’t apologize, Wade,” Peter murmured, trailing his right hand’s fingertips along the older man’s jaw.

Wade somehow managed to coax the silver band onto Peter’s outstretched hand’s ring finger. As soon as he let go, Peter smiled at the metal before cupping Wade’s face. “I’m sorry it’s not pretty,” the scarred man mumbled. “You deserve--”

“Stop going on about what I deserve,” Peter snapped. “I’m _marrying_ you, obviously I think you deserve me.”

“Sorry,” Wade whispered.

“We should celebrate,” Peter smiled, ignoring his apology. “Morning sex?”

Wade blinked at him stupidly. “Uh, yeah!”

~6 Days After~

No one seemed to hesitate in leaving. As soon as possible, they were gone, until it was only May and Wade left in the house. Eventually even Ellie left, pulled gently away from Peter’s grave by Agent Preston.

“I’ll take care of her as long as you need me to,” Emily said.

“Thanks,” Wade forced himself to say.

“Anything you need,” she continued, “I’ll try my best to do. You’re not alone, Wade.”

Not alone. Everyone had said that today--he’s not alone. But he was. He was more alone than he’d ever been, even with the two voices in his head. A hole had been ripped out of his chest, leaving him hollow and confused. What was he supposed to do? He had lived an almost-normal life for so long he had forgotten what it was like to struggle. Where could he go? Home? Home had left with Peter. Work? He’d lost almost all of his contacts. He’d have to build himself back up as a known mercenary.

May and Wade stood in the cemetery before the fresh headstone for what seemed like hours. The silence was suffocating, but Wade wouldn’t have it any other way. He deserved the torture. It would bring his dead lover justice.

“Wade,” May finally said, shattering the quiet.

He grunted in response, not daring to meet her kind eyes.

“My door is always open for you, dear,” she promised, resting a papery hand on his arm. “Why don’t you come by sometime? For some coffee.”

Wade glanced at her, at her soft smile. He could sense her grief, but he couldn’t see it. She was masking it, trying to protect him.

He hated it. He deserved to see what he had done to her.

“Sure,” he croaked.

With that, he turned from her and shuffled away, forcing himself not to look back.

He never did go have coffee with May. He was too busy flipping between killing and dying.

~781 Days After~

Eleanor had been ecstatic when she listened to her father’s voicemail. To her, it meant he was getting better. He could do it. He was strong--a fighter. He could become her dad again.

That was, until he met her at the restaurant with the familiar glaze in his eyes.

She sighed and pulled him into a hug. “Did you see him?”

“I was doing so well,” he choked. “And then there he was. Almost died because of him.”

“You need to visit Papa’s grave,” Eleanor insisted. “I did that when I was going through my stuff, and I just talked to him. I know it’s just a headstone to you, but it really made me feel closer to him.”

Deadpool forced himself to smile. “Yeah, Ellie-belly?”

Eleanor looked down at her food. They weren’t in any sort of fancy restaurant, just in a Denny’s. Still, it was better than tacos again. And to think, those used to be Eleanor’s favorite food.

She gripped her fork tighter. Things change. Her papa died. Her dad died, again and again. Her favorite food could no longer be stomached. Life went on.

“What's the headline?” Deadpool asked blandly.

“Nothing,” she answered, stabbing her salad with her fork.

“Okay,” he mumbled.

They sat in silence, pretending to be interested in their meals, long enough for it to be awkward. Finally, Deadpool forced himself to speak. “Tony Stark paying for this food?”

Eleanor frowned at him. “What else am I supposed to do with the fuckton of cash he shoved down my throat every month?”

“Give it to the homeless,” Deadpool responded, trying for humor but failing pitifully.

She rolled her eyes. “I do.”

Deadpool frowned and dropped his gaze to his food. “Right. I keep forgetting that you're such a good person.”

“Don't be like that,” Eleanor ordered.

What was there to say? Deadpool couldn't find it in him to humor his daughter--or himself--much longer. “Are you gonna eat?”

Eleanor had given up lying to make people feel better. “No. Can we leave now?”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, pushing himself to his feet.

~2028 Days Before~

“White chocolate latte made with two percent milk,” Wade set a steaming mug in front of Peter. “Enjoy.”

Peter pulled it towards him and smiled up at his fiance, his hazel eyes glittering. “Thanks.”

Wade watched Peter take the first sip, his heart soaring at the way his eyelids fluttered shut blissfully. “Well?”

“So good, honey,” Peter praised. “You're good at this. You're definitely doing the cooking when we tie the knot.”

“I'm already doing all the cooking,” Wade pointed out. “If I didn't, the house would have burned down by now.”

Peter half heartedly threw a scrap of paper at him, but there was a grin plastered to his face. “Shut up, I'm not that bad.”

“Sure you're not, baby boy,” Wade turned back to the coffee machine and set to work cleaning up his mess.

Arms suddenly appeared, snaking around Wade’s torso to press against his abdomen. Before he could question it, lips brushed against the shell of his ear. Peter’s voice murmured, low and gravelly, “Sassy today, are we?”

“Not any different than any other day,” Wade pointed out.

“True,” Peter admitted, slipping his fingers under the hem of Wade’s pants.

“Careful what you start, baby boy,” the scarred man warned.

[“Careful what you start”?! It'd be great if he started that!]

{I couldn't agree more! The big guy is being his own cock block.}

“Maybe I want to start something,” Peter cooed.

“Naughty,” Wade scolded, resting his hands on Peter’s hips. “I like that.”

Peter drew away, cocking his head. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Wade scratched the back of his head. Tomorrow. The _day_. The time when Wilson would become Wilson-Parker (Peter tried to convince Wade to let him take Wilson, but Wade refused--“Your name is perfect, baby boy, let me have the honor of having it”).

It was a terrifying prospect. He would be owned by someone new and the cycle of love and heartbreak would repeat itself as it did with so many others. Wade had sworn never to marry again, but he'd also decided never to fall in love again. Peter had shattered the resolve of the wiser part of Wade’s brain, and though the scarred man knew it probably wouldn't end kindly, he was willing to overlook the inevitable and enjoy the happiness.

“I've never been so ready for anything in my life,” Wade said truthfully.

~785 Days After~

“Hey,” Deadpool murmured. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say.”

A light breeze picked up a flower petal that had fallen on the ground, dancing with it through the chilled morning air. The sun hadn't finished rising, so no one but Deadpool was in the cemetery.

“Ellie misses you,” Deadpool continued warily. “And I guess May probably does.”

The headstone was simple, pewter grey and decorated with wilting flowers. Across its face was written “PETER PARKER - 1986-2016” and when Deadpool forced himself to look closer, he noticed another message.

_Beloved hero of his husband and step-daughter._

Deadpool sunk to his knees and reached out to rest his marred fingers against the engravings. “You left us,” he breathed. “It wasn't my fault you died, I know that now. But I should apologize anyway.” Choking, he forced himself to continue, “I'm sorry the last memory we shared was an argument. I'm sorry I drove myself mad with your voice. You wouldn't want that, I know you wouldn't. You loved me,” Deadpool said, more to himself than the grave. After catching his breath, he continued, “It's weird to think of you in a box underneath me. But that's just your body, isn't it? I guess this is where Rogers would say I have you in my memories. And I do, sure, but I don't have you _here_. I don't have you in my arms; I can't fall asleep with you. It's not fair, but I can't do anything about it.” He paused, gazing up at the orange sunlight filtering through the wispy clouds along the horizon. “I mean, Ellie would say I can. Maybe she's right. She's so smart, you know. She's just like you.” He gasped, a sob clenching around his throat, and then forced himself to speak again. “I'm so sorry I didn't visit you or May. But I'm gonna try to make it right. I'm gonna come back and I'm not gonna let my brain’s evil version of you keep me away.”

Deadpool stood and took a few steps away from the grave. But then he stopped and whispered into the lonesome morning, “I love you, Peter Parker.”

With that, he drifted out of the cemetery and hailed a cab. His journey wasn't over.

It took so long for the door to open that Deadpool feared no one was home. Just as he was about to turn and leave, it creaked open to reveal an aged--yet familiar--face.

May had more wrinkles than Deadpool remembered and her hair was whiter and thinner, but her eyes still sparkled when she saw him. She shuffled forward and pulled him down to her. “Wade,” she murmured into his shoulder, “I've been waiting for you.”

“Hey, Aunt May,” Deadpool said breathily, pulling away from her arms. “Uh, I was wondering if the offer for coffee still stands.”

She broke into a toothy grin and snatched up Deadpool’s scarred hand. “Of course it does. Please, come in.”

With a nervous smile, Wade stepped back into his home.


End file.
